The American
by Elsie girl
Summary: Tragedy befalls a cousin in America and she come to Downton, bringing with her complications, a handsome servant, and a secret. Is she bad news for Downton or just what it needs? Defintely worth reading. Please review! M/OC;M/Mary.
1. The Invitation

Chapter 1: The Invitation

"Dear," Lady Grantham began, sitting up in bed with a letter one evening. She shifted her jaw back and forth, biting her tongue as she always did when thinking.

"Yes," her husband more grunted than answered, never looking up from his book.

"I know things have been rather a tumultuous and changing sea for us since poor James and Patrick, but now that Matthew's beginning to get more settled, would you mind too terribly me upsetting the order of things again?" She smiled crookedly, hoping it would soften him to her intentions.

Grantham sighed, giving up his reading and laying his reading glasses down to address her directly. "What are you getting at, my dear? Nothing too drastic I hope."

"Well, I'm afraid I've had very bad news from America."

"Oh?" he creased his eyebrows, his hallmark sign of concern.

"A rather wealthy cousin of mine has been traveling in Africa and he and his wife were killed."

"Was it the malaria?"

"No, some sort of uprising or tribal disgruntlement in which they became casualties. Quite a brutal affair I'm given to understand."

"How terrible. Why didn't you say something before?"

"We'll there was so much going on this morning and we were never very close. It's only that he's left behind a child, and since the poor thing is my second cousin I wonder if we couldn't invite her to stay here, at least for a while. She's never been to England."

"Well, my dear of course you should invite her," he replied dutifully. "How old is the poor child?"

"About sixteen by now I'd say," she supplied with the smallest hesitancy. "She has quite an inheritance from both her parents, but won't be able to be on her own until she becomes eighteen or marries of course. She'd be no burden in that manner."

"I see. I quite share your incentive to extend our home to this unfortunate relation, inheritance or none, but I wonder would it be wise to take in a wealthy, young girl for a length of time when we have three daughters of our own whose interests must be considered."

"You're thinking of Matthew?" She smiled sadly.

"I'm thinking of Mary."

"Unfortunately, I think that ship has sailed. Mary has had her chance with Matthew and Evelyn Napier. I'm afraid she's spoiled both. And Matthew's already shown he has no interest in Edith regardless of the fact that she showed some interest in him.

"That's even imagining he would be interested in an American only sixteen years old."

"Matthew's not from our world. He wouldn't hesitate to marry an American."

"But he's also not fond of immature young women. Nor is he interested in money. It took him so long to even adjust to the idea of being your heir. We have nothing to fear from Matthew I think."

"And other young men? They will be attracted to that inheritance. I speak from experience you remember my dear," he added with a faint note of shame.

"That is exactly why I want her to come to stay with us. Family members and suitors will be scrambling in to come to her rescue in hopes of benefiting in some way from that. And she's just lost her parents, Robert."

"Quite right. We'll invite her. If she accepts to leave her home so soon after the sad business then we'll work out the details and tell the others."

"Thank you, Robert. I'll feel so much better knowing she's not alone, a sheep among wolves."

"I'm glad it makes you feel better." He smiled.

_My dear cousin,_

_I was sorry to hear that you have received such a sudden and terrible loss while still at such a delicate age, especially for a lady. I have three daughters myself and the youngest is now out in society. I cannot image how I would worry for them if anything had happened to my husband, Lord Grantham, and I. _

_I have been told that you are attending a school in America. I think this admirable and in no way wish to interfere with your education. However, if in the light of your current situation you find yourself taking time off from school and wish to escape the current climate at home please think of joining us here at Downton Abbey. _

_I regret we have never had occasion to visit and meet you properly, but my cousin, your father, had promised more than once to bring you to England for a summer or so and if it would be any comfort to you and not an inconvenience you must allow me to make good upon my end of that promise and entertain you at your home for as long as it would be pleasing to you. _

_My deepest sympathies, my dear. Please do not hesitate to write if you should need anything at all. -Cora Grantham _

"You did what?" the Dowager Countess nearly fell off her chair.

"May I remind you that she's an orphan and my cousin?" Cora pressed gently.

"Then send her money."

"She has money."

"Then why's she coming here?"

"We don't know that she is yet."

"But why invite her? It's not as if you've ever wanted to see her before. How old is she?"

"Sixteen I think."

"Sixteen? We'll that's nearly grown and she has money, what does she need you for?"

"To be honest that's exactly why."

"I don't follow."

"You know how young men can be, and she's so young and without parents to look after; I'm afraid she might get tricked into marrying someone that has not got the best intensions. I would hate to see her so unhappy, especially after such a terrible misfortune already."

"It would be sad, but it would also be sad to see Mary marry equally unhappy because she _needs_ money. No, we must focus on getting Mathew and Mary reconciled. We cannot afford any  
>sixteen-year-old American girls with fortunes waltzing in to complicate that purpose."<p>

"I don't think Matthew is at all interested in money. He was so uncomfortable with accepting one inheritance I doubt he's on the lookout for another, especially from a sixteen-year-old young woman." She put a slight emphasis on the ultimate word.

"But what if he should fall in love with her?" her mother-in-law all but pleaded. "She's all alone in the world and they do like to ride in and save lonely women. She isn't terribly attractive, is she?"

"She's a lovely young woman I'm sure, but nothing too beautiful."

"Well, at least there would be that, and she'll be in morning. She hopefully, she'll be too morose to attract too much attention away from Mary and Sybil."

"And Edith."

"Oh I doubt we'll be that lucky, dear."

The peaceful sound of clicking and clattering against china pervaded the dining room. Carson relaxed in the corner—as much as Carson might relax— pleased to watch a quiet dinner at home occur with little to no excitement.

"Have you heard back from your cousin, Cora?" the Dowager Countess began in innocent tones.

"I have," she paused. "And she's very grateful to us, but she doesn't want to impose."

"She's not imposing." Violet then blurted, surprising them both.

"I think she's just trying to be polite." Cora smiled over her glass.

"Well, write her again." Lord Grantham interjected. "Insist. Tell her she may leave us as soon as she's ready, but she must come for a while."

"You're having a cousin come and stay?" Isobel asked without reserve. Violet pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow, unsurprised at her distant cousin's boldness.

"A first cousin of mine and his wife died tragically this month and they've left a daughter, also my cousin, who I've written to and invited to stay with us. I hate the idea of her being left alone."

"Oh good." Mary was the first to speak, obviously irked. "More people."

"Mary, she's been orphaned." Her mother attempted to scold her careless tone. But to no avail.

"Can't you just send her money?"

"She doesn't need money. She needs family."

"Doesn't she have any family in America?"

"You are being once again miraculously unfeeling." Cora's voice became softer, but dark. Mary let it rest for the moment rather than upset the order of the table. Still, reason and logic would have to be appealed to, even if Papa and Granny had taken temporary leave of their senses, she thought.

Sybil's cheerful tones pierced the tension, "Well, I think it would be lovely to have a relative from America! Especially a female cousin. How old is she, Mama?"

"Sixteen, I think."

"That's wonderful, and she's never been to England? Think what fun we all can have introducing her to Downton and the village."

"Of course we'll have to teach her proper manners before we can take her out anywhere."

"Just because she is from America does not mean she was raised by savages. She attends a very fine school in New York."

"She's in school?" Sybil's eye lit up, casting a shadow of worry on her father's features.

"What does she study?" Matthew attempted to polite contribute to conversation he had shied away from after his mother's intrusion. Cora had almost forgotten he was there. "The Arts I think."

"May I write to her, Mama? Perhaps it will make her feel more welcome." Sybil requested.

"I shall give you the address."

"Her education is expensive?" Mary inquired.

"Very." Her mother responded, taking a bite of her pheasant. "Not that it matters as she has more than enough inheritance from bother her parents."

"She was the only child?" Edith asked.

"Only surviving child and grandchild from what I understand."

"How terrible." Isobel Crawley lamented.

"Indeed." Violet agreed.

"Then it's decided." Grantham deliberately drew the conversation to an end, eyeing his wife for discussion later. "You shall write again and so shall Sybil."

"We are not all writing, are we?" Mary asked.

"I see no need to overwhelm her with letters." Her mother responded.

"No," Mary's tone softened, revealing the pity that lived underneath priority and realism. "I dare say she is overwhelmed enough already."

That was the end of it upstairs, but downstairs was peacefully oblivious until Mr. Carson sat upon his chair for dinner and said, "Mrs. Hughes, I hate to speak prematurely but there was some discussion at dinner that we may have a female visitor from America."

Excitement was struck like a match. Silverware froze or clattered. All other conversation died.

"Oh?" said Mrs. Hughes in response, biding Carson to reveal more details.

"It seems her Ladyship has a young cousin who has been recently made the sole orphan of a wealthy pair of parents and her Ladyship has invited her to Downton, I suspect to protect the girl from those who will have their eyes on her inheritance rather than her interests. She has sent a decline to the invitation but they expect is it just a wish not to impose, so her ladyship will be writing to insist at the behest of his lordship as will Lady Sybil."

"My, and how did that go over up there?" Mrs. Hughes gave a little humorless laugh.

"Most of the family seemed alright with it."

"Well, how old is this girl?" O'Brien demanded. "We're not to be babysitting with all else we have to do are we?"

"The young lady is sixteen. She'll need no nanny, Mrs. O'Brien."

"Then she'll be bringing a Lady's maid of her own then? Or are Anna and myself and Gwen to do all five?"

Mrs. Hughes looked to Carson in earnest.

"If she intends to come arrangements will be made, I am sure."

"And will she know how to conduct herself? Or are we to be overrun with people who dress themselves."

"I am given to understand she is from American society, like her ladyship."

"Well, I think it's good his lordship and her ladyship. Very good." Anna offered quietly.

"But it will complicate things for them, won't it?" Thomas all but sneered.

"What do you mean?" asked Daisy.

"I mean, if she's pretty."

"But why would that be bad for them?" Daisy continued dumbly.

"Competition. She's already got more money. How will they be married off then?"

"That's none of your business, is it Thomas?" Mr. Carson intervened.

"It is if she marries Mr. Crawley. Then we'll be waiting on a lawyer and an American. Is that what you want to see happen to Downton, Mr. Carson?"

"That is quite enough, Thomas," put Carson simply. His grey brow creased deeply as he sipped his stew. It was something Thomas had said and Mrs. Hughes' expression betrayed that she thought so too.

They ate in silence, but the room still hummed with the thoughts of the servants. Then, the hallways buzzed with their murmurs until everyone turned in to dream of a stranger.


	2. The Arrival

Chapter 2: The Arrival

His eyes were narrowed. His back straight. Carson stood ready outside Downton with the rest of the family to greet the newest temporary member of the household.

He wanted to take in every inch, every glance, every step of her appearance. He would keep his conclusions to himself, of course, but he had a way of sizing up people in a few short seconds, guessing things about them he would only come to find as fact years later. Perhaps it was from years of working in service, or perhaps it was a skill—though it pained him to admit it—that he picked up in show business, but it was unique and private talent that made him feel rather proud.

And how important it had been over the years. It would be important now, surely. He must look after Downton and he must therefore know at once if this new guest was a danger to the interests of the family. And, if she was a threat to the union of Matthew Crawley and Lady Mary, was there any chance at all that she had potential to look after Downton's interests? Oh yes, some might calling it forward thinking, but he had to have the questions in mind when her surveyed her to know what the answers might be. For Mrs. Hughes had expressed a feeling, and her feelings were usually right, that this new person was to change things somehow and the butler must always be ready to react to the change before it happens, before the others even sense it approaching.

The car came to a halt before him and he took a step forward with not a sign of eagerness on his countenance.

A very tall young man climbed first from the front of the car to open the door for the expected cousin. The butler's astute eyes caught a blaze of bronze skin peaking from underneath the crisp edges of the footman's suit that did little to hide the fact that his shoulders were unusually broad. Carson made a note of his good posture as he walked around the vehicle, then of his jet-black hair, neatly trimmed, and exceedingly stern look. The longer the older man looked upon him, the more his appearance grew altogether startling.

Abigail Vandavere had mentioned there would be a male servant accompanying her, someone who had been there all her life, and though it was unusual indeed that she bring a man rather than her lady's maid, it was not unheard of for young women traveling alone to take a sort of bodyguard. And he certainly fit the bill for that, Carson surmised.

His thoughts were quietly interrupted by a small hand with long, elegant fingers inside black lace gloves that reached out to take the larger, tan one; it utterly disappeared inside its grasp.

Eyes like a doe peered out at them all, yet the wide, gently shaped orbs were unrevealing and an unfittingly cold, grey color. For an instant, her small mouth, with dark lips, twisted into a shy smile as she stepped forward. It disappeared.

She wore black and white chiffon dress with an impressively embroidered bodice and a black ribbon around the chest. It complimented her form so well it was almost revealing. The dress line only reached the ankles, displaying white shoes laced with black ribbon. The only jewelry present was as lovely as it was inconspicuous: a black and white cameo on a black ribbon was fastened around her slim neck.

She was very slight, but she held herself remarkably well and that is perhaps that which made her endearing almost immediately to old Carson. By far her hair was her finest feature; long and full locks were the shinning color of freshly polished brass and looked as smooth. The hair was swept partially back, with curls now falling out at the ends from travel, that sat underneath a small black hat, sleek and plain with a bow in the back plucked with a single white feather.

Full mourning clothes had been going out of style in America since the civil war there, Mrs. Hughes had warned him. The cousin was certainly in partial mourning at least, and her fur, traveling coat, which her servant took from her arm as she climbed out, was certainly an inky black with proper neckline.

Her step Carson examined with special attention. You can always tell a lady by her gait, he thought. He found her walk was swift and direct, though not ungraceful. Carson trusted that walk. The momentary approval on his face shone slightly, and the others found a little comfort in what they did not know they had been looking for.

Her dark servant took the bags to the back without a word. Certainly acceptable, Carson felt, but something about him was unnerving. Good God, he realized, he looked native.

"Welcome to Downton," said Cora, stepping forward and taking the girl's hands.

She nodded but was unable to speak before Lord Grantham put in his greeting.

"Thank you, your Lordship, for having me here. It is exceedingly kind of your entire household. Please do not let disturb your regular business in any way."

"Not at all. You are Cora's second cousin. You are more than welcome to make yourself perfectly at home. I am so sorry for your loss."

At this, there was a flash where she looked oddly puzzled and Carson noticed she did not thank him explicitly. Perhaps unable to comment on her recent loss, she simply nodded again in acknowledgement.

Cora, taking her arm in a familial manner, turned her to the group assembled in greeting. "This is Mr. Carson, the butler; we'd all be lost without him. These are my daughters Mary, Edith, and Sybil who wrote to you."

"Hello," offered Mary politely. Then added tersely, "Cousin Abigail."

Edith smiled friendly.

"So good to finally meet you. Welcome to Downton." Sybil said, trying to contain her excitement.

A touch of laughter twitched Cousin Abigail's faint smile at this greeting, and she allowed Sybil to hug her briefly.

"And this is Mrs. Hughes, the head house maid. She will be able to help you settle in and with anything you might need until you learn the rest of the servants who are currently busy readying for lunch, I'm afraid. I understand, of course, you are tired from your journey and would probably like to rest. Mrs. Hughes will have a tray brought up. We'll see you at dinner."

"Thank you." She said sincerely, then followed inside, studying her surroundings as vigilantly as Carson studied her.

"Beautiful."

It was a single word, and she had scarcely spoken more than a few, but it was somehow heavy with sincerity in such a way that it made Lord Grantham swell with a little pride at his estate, which took very little urging. "I hope you enjoy it."

"I'll show you to your room," said Cora. She seemed truly pleased to do so as she led the way, followed by Mrs. Hughes.

When they were alone, Mr. Carson did not hesitate to ask Mrs. Hughes what she thought though he needed not say a word.

"She was quiet. She seems very nice."

"Yes, I thought so."

"She is pretty, though."

"Well, certainly we won't begrudge her that."

"You surprise me, Mr. Carson. I thought you'd be most concerned for what this may do for Lady's Mary's chances with Mr. Crawley."

"Her ladyship feels that Mr. Crawley will not be interested in Miss Vandavere's fortune, and I agree. I also think the young lady has no interest in taking anything from the family, be it Mr. Crawley or Downton."

"Well that's certainly a conclusion to make after scarcely a minute in her presence."

"Well, we will see."

In the crowded servants' hall, the chatter was growing to a roar. It dulled as Carson and Mrs. Hughes entered in search of Miss Vandavere's man.

"Is it true she was wearing white? And her parents just died a couple months ago?" Daisy asked unabashedly.

"Where is Miss Vandavere's servant?" Carson asked the general room in response. The answer came from behind him.

"Outside," said Branson, biting a piece of bread.

"Mr. Branson,"

"He's an odd one, Mr. Carson. He says you've got invite him in. Some sort of custom where he comes from."

Feeling more than a little ridiculous, and Carson hated to feel ridiculous, the butler walked into the yard and addressed the dark young man. He did look native now that they were close, or at least part native, and almost too sizeable to be in service. Black piercing eyes were upon the butler expectantly. Carson cleared his throat.

"Welcome to Downton. Won't you come in, Mr.?"

"John. My name is John. Mr. Carson isn't it?" He extended a hand that matched Carson's in size. He shook it.

"It is." Carson replied.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"You've met Branson, the chauffeur. Thomas is our head footman, but he's busy at the moment with lunch. William will show you to your room."

"Hello there, Mr. John." Said William in his typical, nervous manner.

"It's just John." With this assurance, he flashed a brilliant smile and Carson heard Gwen and Daisy gasp. Even Mr. Carson thought the young man unsurpassed as handsome when he smiled, in the same exotic way as Mr. Pamuk— though less dangerous, he hoped.

"John then." William smiled back, trying to take his bag out of habit.

"Oh no need to wait on me; I can get that." John informed him. "Don't hesitate to use me, Mr. Carson. So long as I am eating here, I'd like be of use. Not being a lady's maid, I won't be particularly busy."

"Very well," said Carson. He appreciated the offer for the sake of manners but hesitated to put him in a dining room. He might frighten unsuspecting guests. "You are trained in service?"

"Well, I have no desire to take anyone's rank," he joked. "But I can wait a table though if you need me. Run errands. Polish. Help grooms. Carry things about."

"I have no doubt you can at that."

It did not take long for the whispers following John to annoy Carson.

"Would you mind terribly if we just got through dinner tonight?" he snapped. "Gwen, you are to wait on Miss Abigail. Anna, you will have Lady Mary, Lady Edith, and Lady Sybil. Mrs. O'Brien and Gwen will come and help you once they've finished."

"Shouldn't I look after Miss Abigail?" inquired Anna.

"Mrs. Hughes said she requested we imposition regular schedule as little as possible."

"Well that was nice of her."

"Indeed. John, I have nothing particular for you to do, but if you'd like to stand just out of the way and watch how we do things,"

"I understand, Mr. Carson. Watch and learn. I'll be on hand to carry dishes and stay out from under your feet."

"Thank you, John." Mrs. Hughes smiled before she rushed off to calm Gwen who was fretting.

"I just need a quick word with the cook." John added.

"Do you?" Carson asked.

"Well, there are a few things Abigail can't eat." The bustle stilled and hushed. Carson felt eyes upon him. He tried to keep the outrage from his voice.

"I beg your pardon, John?" Carson felt his face blanche.

"I won't take a minute of her time. You can tell her if you'd like. She can't have rabbit is all. She really can't."

"John, I would greatly appreciate it if you would refer to Miss Vandavere as Miss Vandavere or perhaps Miss Abigail if she so wishes. We are quite unaccustomed here to servants and ladies being on a mutually first name basis."

"I'm sorry if I shocked you, Mr. Carson," he stiffened a little, the lightness gone from his voice. "Miss Abigail and I grew up together. 'Miss Abigail' and 'Mr. John' were difficult for toddlers to say, I suppose."

"Yes, of course," he struggled to be understanding. "Still, no matter how long we have known them it can look inappropriate to others."

"Well, I shall tell Miss Abigail then."

"Very well." Carson left it at that.

"Well, they certainly are considerate." Mrs. Hughes murmured to Mr. Carson as he prepared the wine.

"They are."

"Bit unusual though, him calling her by her first name like that. You think that's typical over there now?"

"I doubt it. I think that's unique to our little situation."

"Well, still it must be hard on him, being somewhere so different, away from his family, and people treating him God know how because he looks…"

"We must try to make them feel as welcome as we can, Mrs. Hughes." He put simply.

"I quite agree."

"Gwen seeing to her?"

"Yes. Silly thing was nervous for some reason, so I sent her up early. Miss Abigail said I might. I'm sure she'll do just fine and if she needs help she can summon Anna. But if she stays on for long, we'll have to get another's lady's maid."

"Lord Grantham says she already offered to pay for one. Perhaps you can help her find one."

"I'll talk to her about it tomorrow. Goodness knows she's had enough to take in her first day and meeting Mr. Crawley, the dowager countess, and Mrs. Crawley all tonight!" she huffed in sympathy. "I'll be impressed if she can keep them all straight."

"Well if she is half as intelligent as her ladyship has told us, we won't have a thing to worry about."

"We'll see, won't we, Mr. Carson?"

"Indeed."


	3. The Dinner

AN: Thank you to all who reviewed! I cannot tell you what encouragement it is to know someone else out there wants to see a Matthew/OC story. As one of you pointed out, Cora's sginature in chapter 1 is of course incorrect. Sorry about that. Other than that, I hope you continue to enjoy the surprises I have in store; please review with any questions or comments at all. Now, as promised, here's Matthew!

Chapter 3: The Dinner

Matthew Crawley both loathed and adored the face of Downton.

It held promise, but it also held possibilities of ruin. It was a work of art, a long legacy; it was a thousand pipes that may leak and thousand bricks that may crumble. It offered him so much more than his life had previously given him, yet it kept him from his work. It dangled Mary in front of him one minute, pulled her away the next, then seemed to push her upon him.

The heir sympathized with the girl now waiting upstairs. First, because she was an orphan of course. Losing his father had been hard enough, and he couldn't imagine losing his mother, even as grown man. She had money, as Mary had pointed out, but he knew the guilt and unsettledness that money brought her when it came, unbidden, from someone else's misfortune; with this, he could sympathize as well. He could also relate to the feeling of being brought, on someone's good grace, into an entirely new world. For him, it had been a new class of people, for her the same class in a new country.

Perhaps most immediately his sympathies were with her because she could have no idea what awaited her at dinner. Cousin Violet would have a sharp and appraising eye upon her, and probably more than one double-edged comment ready. The woman could frankly be intimidating.

Then there was Mary and the fact that practically everyone at the table would be eager to dissuade the visiting cousin from being too appealing while scrutinizing him for signs of approval.

She would be equally oblivious to his own mother's antics. He was ashamed to admit that his mother had been overeager to meet the new cousin. She saw the young woman, from what she had gathered, as a 'modern' woman. Being from America and being at a proper school, she would naturally be more agreeable to modern ideas, more compatible with his mother and himself, she informed him.

She also had money, his mother tactfully pointed out, enough money that Downton would never be in danger. He could do his duty to the estate without being married to someone he had nothing in common with. In her mind, it was all set. It was just a matter of getting them together under the nose of the rest of the family.

Matthew wished he would have a chance to meet this young woman without anyone plotting their future one way or the other— just meet her with an honest and open mind. It seemed such meetings were unheard of in society, he had gathered. And though she was no doubt aware of this custom, she could in no way imagine what a threat and hope she posed to the family already assembled. Although the center of it, she was entirely oblivious to the war she was about to witness.

Shortly after he arrived, the regular group greeted each other warmly in the hall as a tinge of eagerness both sweetened and unsettled the air. Mary suggested they go sit while they wait for Cousin Abigail to come down and go through to dinner. He did not know if she wished to avoid a melodramatic entrance down the staircase for her own sake or her cousin's, but either way he felt sympathetic relief.

They made small talk for a few minutes until the door was opened by Thomas. Matthew stood.

Before him was a small creature, of fine figure to be sure, but so slight that she might look frail if she did not carry herself with as much dignity as Lord Grantham. She was wearing a black dress that seemed to fasten around the neck leaving the arms and upper back to be covered only in black lace. With it, she donned a small string of pearls and pearl earrings. Several things in her appearance became apparent to him at once, and that was all he saw or could remember of her afterwards, a hodge-podge of details.

Her hair, exceptionally thick and shiny, gave the impression of having been hay once now spun into gold and braided carefully as to keep it from escaping. When you saw locks like that, he mused, you could not help but think what they would be like to touch them, how they smelt. Her eyes reminded him immediately of a doe, large and luminous but they held a steely iris—the color beautiful but harsh as an angrily frothing sea. Those eyes, he thought, captured your gaze when she bowed, held it, looked through your polite smiles and meaningless phrases. It saw what you meant, then turned to rest upon another.

"Mother," Lord Grantham addressed them. "Mathew, Mrs. Crawley, allow me to introduce Miss Abigail Vandavere."

She executed what Matthew guessed was a flawless curtsy, as cousin Violet's eyebrows nearly leapt into her hair in surprise.

"How do you do?" he nodded in acknowledgement to her, offering a smile.

"This is Matthew, my heir." He felt Mary's anger even feet from her—anger at her father, at him, at the new cousin and the threat she represented. "And this is his mother, Mrs. Crawley, and this is my mother the dowager countess, Lady Crawley."

"How do you do."

"Shall we go through?"

Matthew was seated safely away from Miss Vandavere. In fact, it was somewhat difficult to see her and impossible to speak to her without shouting over the table. He resigned himself to being a helpless bystander for the remainder of the evening.

"How's your room?" Cora asked politely, beginning what would certainly become the interrogation Olympic Games.

"Very nice, thank you."

"What's your home like in America?" Matthew's mother asked with her eager smile.

"I go to school in New York."

"Yes, I've heard, but what is your home like, where your parents—"

_Oh mother,_ thought Matthew.

"They have built a new home there, but I have not been to it but once. I have been in school."

"I think that's wonderful." Sybil interjected. Matthew again felt relief for the new visitor. Cousin Sybil could always be counted upon to interrupt a conversation spiraling downwards and pull it upwards once more like a hot air balloon. "I've been trying to convince my parents for ages to let me go to school in America, a real school. What did you study?"

"As many subjects as possible," she smiled and he noted that when she did so, she still looked tired from her journey.

"Science?" Sybil continued.

"A little." She admitted vaguely.

"I heard they are beginning to have medical schools for women in America."

"That's true; they are."

"Are you going to be a doctor then?" Cousin Violet could not keep the humor from her voice.

"Well, I wouldn't trust me to cut anyone open yet." She said in jest, but continued without pause or expression, "I study music lately. And I like to read."

"Novels?" asked Mary with the sort of feigned interest and hinted condescension she was so talented at producing.

"Anything." She repeated.

"What instruments do you play?" asked Edith earnestly and Matthew was reminded he had more than once come upon Cousin Edith trying some tune on the piano.

Her brow creased with difficulty and she hesitated.

"Don't tell me you _play_ anything as well?" Cousin Violet prodded.

Matthew could not help but frown. Weren't there any other topics for the dinner table?

But that's when he was surprised. Miss Vandavere laughed, actually laughed. Not airily and sarcastic, not deeply. It was a soft, earnest, melodious sound that invited others to join. A few chuckles proceeded around the table.

"A few things," was her nearly cryptic reply. He began to get the suspicion she was trying to be modest.

"Well we have piano, of course." Edith informed her. "But if you play other things you must send for them so you can practice in our music room. I shall show it to you tomorrow." Edith offered. She could be accommodating.

"Edith gives an excellent tour of the local churches as well." Matthew offered, nodding at the sister who always seemed surprised to be mentioned. Said sister smiled in gratitude.

"I don't know if you are interested in that sort of thing," Edith began.

"Oh yes, I find history very interesting."

"Then it must be nice to be around some." Cousin Violet quipped subtly at her American roots, giving Cousin Cora a pause.

Miss Vandavere just smiled in response.

"Then as soon as you feel up to it, I shall give you the tour. We'll make a day of it."

"And you must allow me to show you the village hospital." His mother chimed in.

"Must she?" The Dowager Countess began her objection.

"Cousin Violet and myself have the running of the hospital. I volunteer there regularly as you are welcome to do should you find yourself in need of stimulation and purpose."

"Thank you." She spoke quickly, as if sensing something. "I imagine you both find the responsibility very fulfilling."

"I do." His mother affirmed.

"One does one's duty." Cousin Violet said.

"And the hospital is supported by your estate, Lord Grantham?" she inquired.

"It is. A sort of memorial establishment. Nothing too extravagant."

"Lovely."

The older women of the table were still edging for the next word in.

"Do you ride?" Mary attempted. "Or is there anywhere to do that in New York?"

"Not in New York per se, but I do ride. I enjoy it."

"Well then, there's something you and I can do together. Do you have a horse at home?"

"A couple."

"Mares?"

"I prefer geldings. Less temperamental."

"I'll say. We once had a filly that would wait until you weren't expecting it then kick or bite you."

"I once had to ride a mare two hundred miles that tried to rear her head back and smack you in the face when she got thirsty."

"God Lord! Two hundred miles."

She seemed to regret this instantly as it spread murmurs around the table faster than if she spewed radical political beliefs.

"Yes, well," she cleared her throat. "That was an unusual circumstance."

This was thankfully interrupted by the new course, and though there were a few attempts to steer the conversation to new topics, the temptation to further interrogate the quiet guest seemed too great to resist and Matthew felt a pang of annoyance as it returned again and again like waves. He felt the tide was chasing the girl's heels, and every time she escaped, it only followed her further inland.

"Oh Papa," Sybil sighed. "It is only a matter of time before women can vote to change the laws for themselves. I hear women's rights groups are making strides in New York. Do you hear much of that at school?"

"A little."

"Are you political at all, Cousin Abigail?" Mary asked. "My sister thinks she is."

"Well my political concerns have been primarily with child labor laws in New York."

"Really?" More than one in their party reacted to this for various reasons. Matthew noted how her manner changed when she breached the subject; it was impassion though, it was almost detachment.

"Well, my father owned several factories."

"Which are now yours." Edith faintly suggested.

"But certainly you leave the running of that to men." Cousin Violet laughed.

"Why should she?" Sybil asked. "She's educated. If it's to be her livelihood why should she not have some say in its running if she wishes? The same with her country."

"Of course child labor law would have far more house support if some of the voters were mothers and not just business owners. I understand there is growing concern among the women's movement in London with the working conditions of some of the children there."

"There have been changes." Matthew offered. "Laws on the work days length, working children's ages, and conditions have been altered quite a lot in the last forty years and still worker's strikes complicate business."

"Matthew is a lawyer." His mother explained proudly.

"Commercial law mostly." He added.

"Fascinating." Her eyebrow raised in a gesture too new to be decidedly genuine or otherwise. "Difficult dilemma. Commerce is part of the strength of a nation. Tensions in Europe cause the eyes of concern to be looking beyond issues at home."

"But still, if there is to be war and we must all suffer through it, shouldn't women have a say in which wars they sacrifice to as well?" Sybil asserted passionately.

"You do not plan on going battle yourself?" Cousin Violet asked Sybil amusedly.

"Well of course not, Granny. That's not the point. Certainly, you cannot be so objected to change? It's going to happen."

"Is it all set in stone, then?"

"Some countries have already granted women's suffrage."

"Some is hardly all." Mary pointed out.

"What do you think, Cousin Abigail?"

Matthew saved her. "I find politics interesting and compelling, but not as interesting as they are dangerous."

She looked at him pointedly and it was only then that he realized she had not yet looked directly at him. Her expression did not change but something in those wintry eyes offered thanks. He nodded.

"Here, here." Lord Grantham spoke up.

"Well I find all this very tiring. Shall we go through?" Cora gently suggested. The women were only too pleased to acquiesce. Matthew had to be going soon after. He had papers that needed to be looked over before he was off to the office tomorrow.

He thought little of it all afterwards; he thought almost not at all of the visitor. Naturally, he had many things on his mind. Work for starters. Trying to hold back his mother from starting a war with Cousin Violet. Learning the handling of Downton from Lord Grantham. And Mary, whose manner towards him had changed completely yet again and he struggled to keep their terms most cordial and nothing more.

Throughout the week, however, he would see things, hear things, that would quietly bring this evening meal at Downton to his mind. Child labor law posters in the street, news of strikes ending in violence, a music shop that hung violins in the window which he felt an impulse to buy before he ever realized it may have been for the American.


	4. The First Week

_A/N: Thank you for reviews and your renewed interest in this story as well as for your patience! Here, as promised, is a new chapter. Please review so I know if you enjoyed it and what you expect to/would like to see next- I take reviews very seriously. This chapter is more about the family trying to get to know her as she settles in...foreshadowing abound._

Chapter 4: The First Week

"How is she settling in?" Violet Crawley asked in her manner which attempted to seem only politely interested when she was in fact a great deal more than interested.

Cora obliged her mother-in-law, "Quite well I think. She's very quiet."

"Is that a common trait among Americans?" The younger lady smiled tightly in response."Has Matthew been by?"

"Not lately, but his mother has. She was very keen on showing Abigail the hospital. I think she's hoping she'll share her interest in nursing."

"Does she?"

"I'm not sure, but she has agreed to volunteer once a week."

"Once per week? She's keeps busy then."

"Very. One hardly sees her about and never hears her it seems." Cora explained in low, somewhat mystified voice. "She always walks in the morning, takes breakfast downstairs, and then I don't see until dinner, though I often hear her playing the piano. Robert says she reads in the library quite a bit, but it doesn't bother him as she's completely silent. And she's taking a liking to the dog."

"So Robert likes her then?" Violet all but huffed.

"Well, I do not know how much he _likes_ her as he is presently surprised by how slight her presence is."

"Has she got a lady's maid yet?"

"She's put in an ad for one."

"And the girls, how do they get on with her? Mary?"

"Mmh." Cora exclaimed softly as she swallowed her tea. "Mary and she have gone riding twice this week," she informed significantly.

"Really?"

"Indeed. And Edith gave her a tour of the town and churches. Today Sybil has agreed to accompany her to town so she can buy some new frocks. She wants to match the fashion and weather."

"Well, that's certainly good for Sybil that she doesn't want to take her to some political riot."

"Yes, I thought so too."

"Any idea how long she'll be staying?"

"As long as she likes." Cora insisted.

"Well, let's hope she gets homesick sooner rather than later." She added quickly, "I have no objection to the girl myself, but it's only a matter of time before news of her fortune travels and men start showing up in droves. Have the girls said nothing of their own concern?"

"Mary was more than a little put out by the idea originally. I don't know that she's become any more friendly to it, but she has at least tried to get to know her. Edith likes her I think, though Edith likes nearly everyone but Mary, and Sybil finds her _fascinating_."

At this, the Dowager Countess scoffed.

"Sir Anthony Strallan is coming tomorrow night for dinner." Cora mentioned.

"I'll stay then." She invited herself. "We'll need to divert attention to Edith whenever possible. Do you think you could ask her to wear something unflattering?"

Her daughter-in-law simply stared in response.

"No, I suppose we're not that lucky." She sighed, unabashed. "Will Matthew be there?"

"I've invited him, but I do not know if he'll be joining us or not. His mother will be."

"Perhaps there is another bachelor in the area we can invite to occupy themselves with the American and leave Mary to work on Matthew. What about Mary's friend Evelyn Napier, if he's truly done with her?"

"I don't know that Mary is done with him."

"Well it wouldn't hurt to increase the number of men at the table. They can't all fall in love with her after all, no matter how rich she is. Still, I wish she was a little less attractive."

Cora nearly snorted into her tea.

In the village, Branson and John waited outside with the car while Sybil and Abby shopped for the cousin's new clothes. The driver had expected a bossy rich tart, to be honest. So far the only part which appeared to be accurate was the rich part. John had insisted on accompanying them to the village even though Mr. Casron assured him there was no need for protection in such a small, public place. John watched those passing by with scrutiny and they examined him the same.

"I should thank you," the Irshman joked. "You take the attention off me."

John's stern face spread into a smile. "No problem."

"You're awfully protective of her." He observed, cautiously.

John nodded.

"Any particular reason?" There eyes both went to the shop and snatched images of the ladies inside.

"I'm not in love with her, like you are with Lady Sybil, if that's what you're asking." He answered so matter-of-factly that Branson not know whether to object indignantly or not.

"Now, who told you that?"

John mouth was still turned upwards. "Your secret is safe with me."

"How do I know that? Where I come from," he lowered his voice. "A secret for secret keeps both secrets safe. You have a secret?"

"Several." John answered, watching an approaching group with care. Branson let the conversation drop for the time being.

Inside the shop, Abigail stepped out from behind a dressing curtain wearing a deep shade of purple. If covered conservatively, but was fitting, rather like a professional dress.

"I think it looks beautiful," Sybil told her.

"Are you sure?" she examined herself. "It's not black."

"Well, it's a dark color. People hardly ever go into full morning for more than a few days in America now anyway."

"But I am not in America."

"Oh no one will judge you; they'll be too distracted by how good you look in it. I promise. I wish I could get another new frock."

"By all means do. My treat."

"Oh no! I couldn't."

"You must, for taking me into town and giving me fashion advice."

"No really, I wouldn't dream of—"

"Please, let me thank you, just a gift between us. I'll show you the newest American craze."

"You must repay me some other way, a favor for a favor." Sybil insisted stubbornly.

Her cousin's expression darkened and became distant as if this phrase had strung a cord. Resigning herself to Sybil's determination, Abigail paid for her garments and thanked the seamstress. "I'll need it tomorrow, can you do it?" she asked, extending a bank note.

The woman blinked dumbly for a moment, befuddled by the request and the money, but the order was simple enough and the supplies present. She nodded and accepted the bill. "Thank you," Cousin Abigail nodded.

"Alright, what favor?" she asked once they were out of earshot of those in the store.

"Well, there is a servant in the house that waits on you; her name is Gwen…"

"Gwen, yes. She's a wonderful help to me."

"Well, she actually has this dream of becoming a secretary. She's taken a postal course in shorthand and typing, and she's looking for a position. She's had trouble getting her foot in the door with no experience."

"I see."

"So I've given her some of my old clothes to make her look more professional when she interviews. I know you said you haven't brought much because you wanted to wait and see to match the fashions and weather, but if you have anything at all you could spare to help her…"

"So in return for the favor of helping me, you want me to help Gwen?"

"Well it's not selfless entirely. You see, I've promised to help her, so you'd be helping me keep my word."

"Won't you family be angry if I lose them their servant?"

"They don't have to know."

"Does this have anything to do with women's rights?"

"Well yes, in a way. I just believe everyone should have the right to chose their own life, make it for themselves, especially women. It's alright for you, you have financial security. I am still expected not to work but have to marry to secure my position. Oh, I did not mean any offense."

"None taken. I agree."

"You do?"

"I'm American; my family made their wealth. No disrespect intended towards yours, of course. I'll help Gwen however I can." She said significantly.

"I wish you could talk my parents into allowing me some independence. I have to claim I'm going to charity meetings to attend political rallies. And mother's insisting I be home for some stupid reason on the day of vote. I can't miss that. Branson has agreed to drive me."

"You're going? That can be dangerous."

"You mustn't tell. Besides, Branson will be with me."

"Oh no, I'm not the type. Only would you mind if I went with you? You can introduce me to your charity group." She winked.

"Really? You truly want to go? That would be great to have so company who shows interest."

"Then it's settled." She paused on the pavement and Sybil caught sight of a familiar face walking in the village.

"Hello Matthew!" Sybil waved at her cousin, smiling.

What the youngest daughter of Downton had expected to be a boring outing with a remarkably quiet person had turned out to put her in a wonderful mood. Now there was her cousin she had not seen in a week. In fact, Matthew had been quite scarce lately. Mary had apparently done something to spoil their friendship again. Sybil did worry for her eldest sister. She could be too strong at times; people began to think she was unbreakable.

"Hello, ladies." Matthew addressed them pleasantly.

"Hello." Abigail greeted him simply.

"How are you settling in?" he inquired.

"Fine, thank you."

"Has Sybil got you ready to march on the capital for women's rights yet?" he teased.

"No," Sybil objected. "We've just been shopping for a new frock for Cousin Abigail and they've said they can have it ready for tomorrow's dinner. Will you be joining us? We've hardly seen you lately."

"I shall try," he laughed softly in his good-natured way.

"No you must promise. Sir Anthony Strallan will be there, so you won't be the only man."

"Alright. I will see you both tomorrow." He agreed, unable to do otherwise.

"Excellent." Sybil turned towards the car, satisfied.

When Matthew arrived alone the following night, as his mother was feeling under the weather, he noticed something exceptionally odd. It was dusk, but the shadow of a tall man with exceptionally broad shoulders carried several large parcels over his shoulders. The unfamiliar figure disappeared inside Downton.

The image, though he knew nothing of what it meant, haunted his thoughts as he was introduced to the guests and greeted his family and neighbors.

"I saw a man outside. Do you have a new servant?" Matthew asked at dinner, unable to contain his curiosity.

"No. That must be Abigail's escort, John."

"Oh."

"He's not gone back to America?" cousin Violet asked.

"No he's making himself useful at Downton until she chooses to return." Lord Grantham answered.

"Is it really necessary to travel with protection?" Violet asked.

"Yes."

Matthew wondered at her response even as Cousin Cora continued, "Carson says he's been quite helpful."

"You intend to be returning relatively soon then?" Violet inquired, almost transparently.

"I certainly hope not." Cora inserted, giving her mother-in-law a hard look.

"No indeed," Sir Anthony smiled. A ripple of worry made its way around the table. If the American had noticed, she did not give indication that she had. Sir Anthony continued, "Lady Edith says you've been wonderful company."

"Edith was kind enough to give me a tour and we went for a drive today." She volunteered.

"I do enjoy drives." He smiled at Edith, who blushed slightly.

"I hear you've had some new instruments sent for. You never told me what you play." Mary diverted the attention once again to her cousin and Matthew found himself half-wondering if she were doing it to spite her sister.

"This and that." She humbly insisted, filling her mouth with soup so as not make herself unavailable for conversation. Mercifully, Lord Grantham intervened.

Matthew stared openly and marveled at this guest as it occurred to him how different she was from the others. He had grown so fond of Downton, of his relations and all the servants, but she reminded him of another world. Another type of people. They way she diverted attention from herself, never bragged or insulted others, shied away from compliments…it was refreshing from a class seemingly filled with women who competed fiercely and strove to be admired and adored. She did neither.

But something in her silence made her intriguing. He had met her three times now, yet he knew nothing more of her than of a stranger. He supposed they were related in some way, and yet all he could relay to his disappointed mother that evening what was what she was wearing.

"She must have looked stunning for you take such notice in a room full of women. Purple you say?"

He suppressed a groan. "I believe so, mother. I only noticed because I knew you would demand details and she said practically nothing."

"It's a shame she's so shy. Even at the hospital, she scarcely says a word other than about the work, or comforting patients. She's very smart though. I wondered that I'd not had to explain a single thing. Then, it turns out she's been trained as a nurse! Not a word on it. Very odd."

"Is it so odd to keep ones accomplishments to oneself?"

"For an unmarried woman it certainly is. Perhaps it's the trauma of her loss. Maybe she's depressed. Did she seem sullen at dinner?"

"I could not say." He answered thoughtfully.

"We simply must get to know her better. I know. We shall have her for lunch!"

"Mother," he began, but he could already tell she was not to be dissuaded.

"No, no. It will give her time away from Downton and the sisters. Then, maybe you can talk to her without being interrupted."

"Assuming she wants to talk to me."

She pointedly ignored his point. "I'll ask her when she comes to the hospital this week."

"Well then, I guess it's settled." He feigned annoyance.

"It is."


	5. The Lunch

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! One reader conveyed some worry that this character is a little too perfect…which is exactly the point, as another reviewer pointed out. In the summary, it says: but is she what she seems? It's told entirely through __others__ observations, and their motivations reflect __their__ perception (Matthew pities her, Mary/Cora/Violet see her as a potential threat, etc). Unraveling the true character will be the point of the story, much like in Downton. Hope that clears things up and that I haven't put anyone off too much! _

_Someone else expressed a desire for the mischievous side of Mary we all know and love. Do you agree she should bring out the claws? Let me know in a review. Someone else desired to Matthew and Abigail to be alone, so…scandalous as it is… here you go. _

The Lunch

She looked like a deer as it spots the hunter the moment before the bow snaps. Cousin Abigail knew was trapped, and there was no point in fighting it.

"You must tell us more about yourself." His mother insisted to their guest.

Thin, pale hands extended to clutch a teacup, and she brought the china to her small lips. They were so dark, Matthew Crawley noticed, so at odds with the rest of her save her mourning clothes. She was wearing a thin, navy blue dress, which did not reach her ankles, with a light blue layered underneath, light blue flowers in her navy hat, and blue stockings. It was practically scandalous and he knew that gave his mother hope that she was trying to get his attention. False hope, he feared, as she seemed no more interested in him than in discussing the subject now breached. "Tell us about your childhood," she suggested.

"Well, I was very small to begin with."

Matthew was startled by the laugh he felt escape him at his smart answer and Moseley snorted behind him. His mother blinked, politely puzzled.

Their guest amended, "I went to school in New York when I was nine." She stated simply, as if this was all that existed of her life.

"And what was your life like before that?"

"It wasn't very nice." He frowned, unsure how to respond to her frankness.

"Were you born in New York?" His mother continued to press. He stared into his tea, Miss Vandavere's gaze and his mother's nosiness making him uncomfortable.

"St. Louis."

"Oh my. Is that where John is from?"

"Yes."

"He's been with you your whole life, is that so?" His mother pressed.

"It is."

"Is it common in America for families to employ natives?" The older woman inquired tactlessly. Abigail Vandavere gave little or no indication that this comment bothered her, but he sensed it did. She shook her head slowly in response, as if she had been asked if Americans sometime eat their young.

"Cora tells me don't have any brothers or sisters." She attempted once more, her frustration with the lasp of silence showing.

"Not anymore."

Matthew stopped chewing. This was a disaster.

"Oh my. I am sorry."

"So, you've lost your siblings and now your parents. No wonder you are so quiet. I cannot imagine what you must be going through." He offered, feeling his face heat. He could not match her frankness. But there was something comforting in it, even as it was disconcerting and unladylike. It was a scrap of honesty. Good or bad, intentions had been hidden since he came to Downton.

"That was a long time ago." She said.

"What happened?" He heard himself say it, making his mother and Moseley jump a little, but he did not believe he'd actually uttered the words.

"They died in India."

"India! You've traveled then. Sadly, there is so much malaria over there." His mother lamented, prompting.

"Earthquake." She answered calmly sipping her tea.

"And you survived?" Matthew asked incredulous.

"Yes. After, that my parents went away and I was sent across Europe to live with my great uncle in America."

"Your great uncle?" This was the first his mother had heard of an uncle, or he for that matter.

"Peter."

"And what happened to him?"

"Tuberculosis." So much loss, so quickly. As if it followed her like a hunter.

"How old were you when you traveled across Europe on your own?" He wanted to know.

"I was met in Europe by a relation. I was eight."

"Your mother was European, yes?" Mrs. Crawley inquired.

"Austrian."

"How nice." It seemed to be all she could find to say in response and the younger girl threw the tiniest panicked glance at Matthew. It was not nice at all. None of it.

"You enjoy school?" He tried hopelessly.

She smiled faintly, with effort it seemed. "I like to learn."

"Do you hope to do anything with your education? Become a professional woman of some kind." Violet aimed to strike her interest.

"I don't—" she struggled.

No one heard that last comment as her answer was soft and someone else spoke.

"Excuse me ma'am," Moseley interrupted. "You are needed in the hospital immediately I'm afraid."

From the softness and uneasy tone of Moseley's voice, Matthew bargained his mother had planned this.

"Do you need help?" Cousin Abigail inquired.

"No, no. I'm sure I can manage. Please, stay and finish your lunch; I'll be back shortly."

And they were left alone for what he was sure, if he knew his own mother, would not a be a short time. Abigail's demeanor did not alter; she did not become uneasy, and without his mother hovering and hedging, he allowed his body to relax as he only could in his office alone.

"Well, that went terribly." He commented in earnest. She looked slowly up at him.

"Tell me about your work." This took him off guard, but she leaned forward a little and he tried to ignore her figure.

"Well, it's not very interesting."

"Of course it is. You practice commercial law, with a new firm, yes? How are they?"

"Well," he began and with every nod of understanding or encouragement, every apt question, every interesting turn the conversation took, he found himself revealing more of what he did not realize he'd had to keep to himself. Office dynamics, political pressures, adjusting ones schedule and workload. The work was fascinating, and they had been so busy.

"God, I've been jabbering forever. You've been such a good sport listening to me drone on about work. I assure you, I do not usually do this. Quite the opposite, mostly people look as if they will die of boredom if I begin to discuss my work."

"I was curious."

"We invited you here because we were curious about you, and now I feel I've learned almost nothing about you."

"Really?"

"Well," he examined her, "not nothing. I've learned you are very intelligent, which I had heard, of course, but not guessed how much so."

She shook her head. "I told you. I like to learn."

"You don't fool me. You always try to hide your talents. Not really fair, is it? I've told you all about myself and made myself seem far more interesting than I am."

"Alright, we'll make it fair. You may ask me anything. Anything you like, and I'll answer. We are alone. No one will hear what it is."

He hesitated at the threshold of a very dangerous position. What had he gotten himself into? He racked his brains, precariously calculated his words. A thrill filled him as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Matthew?" a voice called in the doorway.

He stood. She remained calmly seated.

"Oh. You're still here." It was not a question. The eldest daughter of Downton stood shamelessly before him, every inch a lady. "Mama was afraid you had gotten lost on your way and insisted I come and find you. Granny is over and insisting you join them for tea. You can't have her all to yourself, Matthew."

Her face was a smile, her tone friendly as he had ever heard it, but her eyes had grown dark again- that look he dreaded- and he was surprised and unnerved to find himself worrying if he should really leave the young cousin alone with Mary...

"Too right, Mary. I think we have had her to ourselves quite enough. She'll get tired of us and not return. I must be getting back to the office, a few papers…" Matthew mumbled, pulling out the chair for Cousin Abigail himself. Mary felt a catch in her throat as she saw this, but noted how he halted halfway through. Matthew had spied Moseley and remembered himself; still unaccustomed to being waited on, he had mis-stepped again. His face was tense, but both ladies let it pass without comment and he seemed to let loose a breath of relief. It meant nothing, Mary reasoned. And Abigail had not even noticed. She forced her smile to keep from pulling too tight.

"When will we see you?" she asked, in her most cheerful tones.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe Sunday."

"Maybe Sunday then." He was not then overeager to visit the cousin again soon.

"Thank your mother for me please, Mr. Crawley." Abigail's voice surprised them.

"Matthew, please. It was a pleasure. You are certainly welcome anytime you feel the need to be bored."

"Well, we must be going. Cousin Abigail?" Mary interjected at once. Hearing Matthew's Christian name on his cousin's lips would surely undo her. They must be going.

"Thank you for saving me." Abigail said once they were safely outside.

Mary smiled sadly. This would be so much easier if Abigail were not compatiable. If her demeanor were not so earnest, if it did not catch so many details of people's character, if she did not seem to mind a single thing which had been told to her about Mary or which Mary had volunteered to frighten the girl away. She felt almost human around her. Almost as if she could stop hiding her nature, but that made her feel vulnerable. And feeling vulnerable filled Lady Mary Crawley with rage.

"Looks like I got there just in time too. You know that was a very dangerous question you walked into; you're lucky Cousin Matthew is a gentleman."

"He wants to be friends. You cannot be friends without exchanging secrets."

"Can't you?"

"If one knows and the other doesn't there is always a fear that one will be betrayed. If both have equal leverage over the other, then there can be discussion with no fear."

"I see," Mary mused.

"You want to tell me your secret too."

"Do I?" And she tried to keep the anger out of her voice as she realized that it was true. She did not know why. "And what secret will you share with me?"

"That depends."

"Upon?"

"Upon what sort of secret you have. You don't want to buy someone a sweater who is giving you a horse."

"Or vice versa." She nodded, climbing into the car. They dropped the conversation once in the car with Branson.

"Where's John?" Abigail asked.

"Helping with the horses." The Irishman responded, seeming to satisfy her.

"Do you tell John your secrets?" Mary inquired in a low voice as the car began.

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"It must be nice." She scoffed with envy. "Having someone who knows your faults and still adores you."

"You would be surprised how much those who think the most of us really know. They just care enough not to mention it."

"I think you are right." Mary reflected, thinking wishfully of dear Carson, but the chauffeur was being too quite to be minding his own business. She changed the subject: "Did you have a nice time at lunch?"

"Cousin Violet left us to attend to something."

"You must tell Granny; she'll die when she hears that."

"Then, I'd better not tell her." She joked.

"That woman is set on making you a match with her son, you know that?"

"Hmm."

"Aren't you interested in heir of Downton?"

"I don't know him."

"_Americans_."

Abigail smiled. "Mary, can you find a way to spare me from tea?"

"I'll say you and Matthew were left alone and then I'll tell them you needed to lie down. That will go over brilliantly."

"Tell them we got in a horrendous fight. I'm all bloody. Have to bathe."

"Who shall I say won the match, then?"

"It was a draw. We have to duel tomorrow to decide who gets Matthew. He, of course, shall have no say in the matter." Mary found herself laughing in earnest, like a child.

"How will Matthew feel about this?"

"He's a _male_, Mary. He won't have feelings. Just money."

"Oh! Naturally."

Branson sniggered as well at their wicked game.

The girl was so unlike her cousins, the chauffer thought. She was not quite as plain as Edith, nor as passionate as Sybil, nor as snobby as Mary. She was nothing like John.

He bore silent witness to their sad situation: perpetual closeness severed by a wall of people. Carson had ordered John to never enter her room or call her by her first name, but he could not stop his footsteps from following hers or the stern eyes always watching those around her. Torture. And Tom Branson felt himself inching closer towards their sad fate daily, even as he watched it.

As they climbed from the car, Branson helped Miss Vandavere down, handing off a note, a note he could not have read if he had dared, as he would never decipher it.

"Thank you." Her grew eyes burned with a significance. The Irishman nodded. If secrets made friends, as he'd overheard Abigail tell Mary, then he a John were friends now, keeping each other's hidden things buried within the wall of Downton.

_A/N: Really enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you thought of it and what you are thinking of Miss Vandavere! I simply cannot write without knowing people want to read. Thanks for reading!_


	6. The Guests

_A/N: Thank you for reading. This chapter is much longer, so I hope you enjoy it. Don't forget to review, please!_

The Guests

"Miss." Gwen bowed a little as she entered the room, though she hardly felt the need.

It was an odd situation for the servants: Miss Vandavere was not a lady, but she was rich. She was used to being waited on, but seemed to able to do for herself just as well. She did occasionally require help of course, running baths that she took often, doing her hair, having her clothes prepared, but she kept almost entirely to herself otherwise. Her bell rang three or four times a day at regular intervals. She paid so little attention to ceremony that she was somewhat awkward and at times a tad uncouth. She probably would not notice whether Gwen bowed or not. It was strange.

"I'll have to get you ready myself tonight." Gwen said, not expecting an answer. The red head walked to the dresser where the American sat, and began combing her hair, pulling the fine strands into a French braid, one of the only things she could do properly. It was difficult to make Miss Abigail's hair stay without hurting her, the locks were so fine and so soft they slipped apart. Miss Vandavere released a sidepiece, twisting it and then fastening it behind her ear with a rather ornate green and purple dragonfly pin. Another strand at the fringe and nape of the neck she let loose, curling it as Gwen fastened the braid.

"Thank you." Miss Abigail said when it was finished. Gwen's arms were tired with the effort.

"Thank you for helping me make it look decent." Gwen laughed bashfully, feeling once again as if she were in the wrong trade. Stepping over the dog, she walked towards the full wardrobe. The dog was often found in Vandavere's room, which had been singular as Mary, Edith and Sybil had never let animals in their rooms. And she always said thank you, Gwen reflected, even quietly at the table when each glass was refilled, each plate taken.

"I'll wear green tonight." She said offhand.

"I think Lady Sybil is wearing green."

"Purple then." Then abruptly, "Gwen, Sybil said you have a job interview tomorrow. I've got something you must take." The young lady crossed the room and rummaged in the top of her wardrobe. Gwen stood there dumbly. "This." She held up a leather briefcase, trim and smooth and lightly colored with a faint design around the edges.

"Oh no, Miss. I couldn't."

"You must. I gave my word I would help you to pay back a favor she did me. Take it."

"Really, I can't. She shouldn't even have told you. I don't want you to have to lie for me too."

"Oh it's old anyway and it will make you look professional, along with those clothes Sybil gave you. You have the skill; we are just giving you the trimmings. Now take it."

"Can I return it if I don't get the job?"

"Suit yourself." She shrugged.

Once her dress was on, she sat back down at the dressing table, putting on small green earrings and powdering herself. Gwen stared for a moment at the reflection. She was beautiful. Not a lady, like the others. Not a wild exotic beauty like John. Strange and stern. Yet delicate, almost frail.

Grey eyes met hers in the mirror, eyes that always made her nervous; Gwen started and with a plop knocked several books from the dresser to the floor.

"Oh! I'm sorry."

"They are fine."

"Did you not like the ones you were reading yesterday?" Gwen wondered, turning the new titles over in her hands.

"I've finished them."

"Already?" she said, incredulous.

Abigail Vandavere did not reply. She stopped what she was doing, as if she'd said something wrong. Her eyes fixed themselves on Gwen's reflection. Gwen looked down at her hands and found a scrap of paper had escaped from the hiding place inside the novel.

"Gwen," her voice was serious.

"Yes mi'lady?" Gwen faltered, suddenly feeling as though she had intruded.

"I'd like you to trust me with your secret." The young lady turned to face her.

"Sorry?" Gwen blinked.

"And so I'm going to trust you with my secret. Then we will be even. Would you like that?"

Gwen felt eyes looking into her, watching every muscle in her face, her breathing, but even as apprehensive as that gaze made her, her curiosity burned throughout her body like a gulp of hot tea.

"What's that my la-I mean, Miss Vandavere?"

As Gwen replaced the books, sliding the letter back inside, Miss Vandavere took it from the pages and folded it in two. "This is to go to John. Can you do that?"

"Yes ma'am." She somehow bit back the hundred questions she had.

"Thank you. Now you have no worry that I shall reveal your secret, nor should you feel badly for taking the bag."

Gwen nodded, speechless. Miss Vandavere stood as there was a knock on her door. Sybil entered.

"Oh! Gwen, hello there. All ready for your interview? I've talked to Papa and we'll be taking the carriage. It's all settled. What have you got there?" Lady Sybil indicated her hands and a thrill of horror went through her. It must have showed on her face, but looking down she saw she was now holding the bag and it was concealing the secret letter.

"La—Miss Vandavere lent it to me for my interview. Much better than the old bag I was going to bring. I can carry a copy of my resume in the pocket. I just can't believe this is happening Mi'lady. I can't thank you enough."

"Good. I'm glad you don't mind me telling Abigail. I knew she could be trusted; I didn't tell anyone else."

"No I don't mind. Not at all." Gwen threw a glance her way.

Sybil smiled. "Good. Abigail, I wanted a word with you before dinner. It's about out little trip we had planned."

"Excuse me." Gwen let herself out.

She walked down the hall imaging herself dressed in the business suit, carrying this bag, back straight, head up. A real professional woman. She squeezed the bag a little harder and heard a crinkle of paper. Gasping, she unclenched the letter and stopped. Checking the hall was clear, she examined the paper to see if it was alright. It was not torn, she sighed in relief, but, she thought she may have smudged the ink. She could open and see…

'No, Gwen! You nosey devil,' she berated herself. 'You have no business betraying her trust like that.' But she had not said not to read it, not put it in a envelope. After all, if it was ruined, she should return it now. She knew her entire secret after all. If she wanted it to be even…

"What have you got there, Gwen?" Mr. Bates asked, making her inhale sharply. How did she not hear him limping towards her?

"Nothing." She answered too quickly. "Just cleaning this for Miss Vandavere." And with that, she scooted away to try to find John.

Edith talked happily with Sir Anthony as Mary tried her best to keep Matthew entertained. Granny had very strategically placed him away from Cousin Abigail and Evelyn Napier directly next to her. It humored the blonde to see her older sister, who thought herself so superior, putting so much effort into conversation with a man while she could not help but cast jealous glances at the other man she had shunned. Glances Matthew caught— he was not an idiot.

Edith was well aware of how much work it took to get Evelyn to return to Downton, and she could not tell if Cousin Abigail was making his trip worth it or not. He had been visiting nearby and agreed to come to dinner so that Downton would not leave such a bitter taste in his mouth, or so they had said. In truth, they aimed to govern his attentions towards Cousin Abigail in order to free Matthew up for Mary. He had been hesitant to return to the house where he'd had his broken and lost his friend. If he only knew the truth that Edith herself had recently learned, Napier would consider himself lucky, narrowly escaping the dangerous fate of marrying a creature like Mary.

To spite her sister, Mary tried once to engage in conversation with Sir Anthony, but Edith took the opportunity when she saw it to make Mary look as ignorant and uncaring as she could. It was her own fault; she should keep up with the world events. But the younger woman had not meant to create further tension as there was already conflict brewing over the local flower show with animosity so serious you'd think it was the war looming.

Talking of the international affairs brought a sad look upon the countenance of Evelyn Napier and then to Mary, which both Matthew and Napier to note of—the latter of which then grew more forlorn. Then, to make matters worse, Sir Anthony had just been traveling Germany and Austria. He commented on his worry.

Matthew surprised them all by practically exclaiming the length of the table.

"Your mother was Austrian, wasn't she, Abigail?"

Silence pervaded the hall and Edith felt her face heat.

"Yes."

"Do you have family there?" his mother asked, diverted from her challenge to the Dowager Countess.

"Some relations."

"Really?" And Evelyn bowed his head and engaged in deep conversation with her for the rest of the evening. Edith hardly noticed, happily engaged in her own. Mary on the other hand grew more false and pathetic by the minute and though it brought great mirth to Edith, she began to pity Matthew. She suggested they go through and her mother smiled at her, grateful. No long after, people began to disappear into the hall, but she barely noticed.

"War of the Roses." Abigail was saying as Matthew stepped into the hall. The others were having coffee in the other room and Lord Grantham had gone through to the library. He did not see her at first. He laughed very softly, feeling more tired than usual.

"Thank you for listening to my platitudes all evening." A deeper voice replied. "I promise I'm not always this depressing to talk to; I'm usually really quite jovial."

Evelyn Napier was talking to her in private.

Matthew stopped in his tracks in a poorer lit area behind a column. Not hiding, just trying to not to disturb them, he reasoned, caught in an awkward situation. Miss Vandavere was not speaking.

"Perhaps you will allow me the opportunity to prove it to you." Napier asked with all politeness and a hint of timidity. Matthew approved of his tone and his manners, but did not approve of the match. Perhaps it was the difference in age. Or the fact they had just met. Or that she was desperately rich and he knew they were throwing this man at her.

"How so?" she asked.

"Will you be in London for the season?"

"I do not know yet."

"Well, if you are, allow me to call on you. To show you I can entertain you as well."

"Sure." She agreed, with a friendly and obliging tone which seemed to take effort and which implied she did not quite understand the social implications of such an agreement.

"And may I write to you?"

"Of course you may."

There was a pause in which Matthew was sorely tempted to look around the corner and make certain he was not trying to kiss her already.

"I think I shall go up." Napier sighed. "I am terribly exhausted. Goodnight, Miss Vandavere. Sleep well."

Again, there was no audible reply and Matthew waited for his footsteps to soften on the upstairs carpet before he came forward. Abigail was the at the window. Her back to him, she seemed oblivious to his presence, absorbed in her own thoughts. He had better speak to keep from startling her.

"I'm sorry if I overheard anything. I was just stepping out for some air and quite." She did not jump. She did not move at all.

"Me too." Feeling at ease, he stepped forward. "You're not interrupting. Mr. Napier's gone up to bed.

"I feel as though I could fall asleep now myself."

"I agree. It was very tiring. But I think he was more wanting some time alone. He talked mostly of his friend who died here."

"He confided in you?"

"He did."

"He must have liked you very much." He did not know why he said it.

"He just wanted someone to listen. I think he has been wanting to talk about it for a long time. He thought an orphan would not mind."

"I'm sorry." He offered in earnest, his face pained for her.

"No, don't be." She quickly reassured him. "I didn't mind."

He tried to tell himself that this first small wriggle of jealousy was more his exasperation with Mary and dinners and his mother and that damned flower show. Everything here was a battle. He was growing very tired tonight, a little glum himself. Something about the conversation had brought down his already low mood. Not that it was his business nor that he knew why he was concerned about it.

He could not even look at her when he said it; he starred at the fire: "You know, he'll think you're his girl now."

"What?" she turned in surprise.

"I was afraid you might not have caught that." He smiled.

"Oh Matthew," she took his arm without thinking, her almost frightened expression humorous to him. "You must get me out of this!" She appealed to him as to an older brother, and the intimacy flattered him.

"How can _I_ help?" he openly laughed.

"No, you're right." The humor left her voice and her face. She dropped her gaze. "It's not your problem."

"No," he put his hands on her shoulders. She was such a slight person and with such a sad little life, all alone save the world that was after her money. He could not help the desire to comfort her. "No, I will do anything I can."

"I was only being nice." She pouted.

"I know." He grinned at her silly childishness, leaning back straight again.

"I don't mind him writing or even calling, but I'm not his girl. I'm not anyone's girl."

"Well, perhaps just tell him that." Matthew suggested.

"And break his heart again?"

"Honesty is always the best policy."

"No it isn't." she answered dismissively. "Would you be willing to do me a favor, really?" she asked, her mind clearly crafting a plot.

"I said I would."

"I know, but it's a tad devilish." And there it was. A real smile. It stretched into her eyes the way his father's used to, maybe even started there. It was a bit crocked, like a child's, and so wonderfully mischievous that he felt like laughing again, deeply from his stomach. He was in trouble and he knew it: How could he say no?

"Tell me." He said, resigned.

"Would you tell him that you are calling on me? You know, scare him off your territory."

"Oh I see. You think that if I say you are my girl instead he will politely back off."

"I think it will work. He seems a gentleman. You'll have to be intimidating though."

"Oh I don't know. I'm not the intimidating type."

"You can very intimidating."

"To who?" he demanded in disbelief.

"To me." He waited for a snort of laughter. It did not come.

"Are you serious?" She nodded. His voice softened and he bent closer to her. "Don't ever be intimidated by me, Abigail. I am nothing but a friend to you. And even if I wasn't, I could not do much damage." He scoffed at himself.

"You have more fight in you than you think." Her lips curled a little, hinting at a crooked smile.

"Then I shall only use it to help you. Tomorrow when he leaves, I shall make it clear to Mr. Napier that I have had my sights set on you since the day I met you and if he wants to court you he's is in for a challenge."

"Oh Matthew. You are the best." And she gave him a quick hug of gratitude and left him to go through and be with the others. He stood there for a moment smiling at the idea of his newly adopted little sister, threatening away her suitors. Grinning at the way she wrapped her arms tightly around his middle for a second, as one would do with a brother one adored. A dear brother. After all, she was no one's girl, she had said.

But as he touched his collar where her hair had been a moment before, her sweet smell clung there. He breathed it in and was jolted to find his reaction was not at all brotherly.

Mary covered her mouth tightly. She must not cry out. Even as she felt herself tearing apart wondering how this had all happened.

'_I have had my sights set on you since the day I met you and if he wants to court you he's is in for a challenge.'_

She left her dark corner behind column in the hall and turned to go into the library, drying her face with a handkerchief. She was not going to outdone by someone less of a Lady just because she was younger and richer. Evelyn and Matthew had belonged to her once, and they would belong to her again. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to destroy Cousin Abigail after all.

_A/N: See? True to my word. I let Matthew and Abigail be alone another moment! So please leave a review to tell me what you think of Abigail and John or anything else you'd like to leave your input on. I've already got a head start on the next chapter, but I won't post until some reviews are up so I know you are reading._


	7. The Flower Show

_A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed! And thanks to Anonymous for letting me you liked the story. So sorry I left this story, but since several people have shown interest, I'll be posting the rest!_

_If you are reading and have reviewed, please let me know what you are thinking in a review, or where you see this heading, or where you don't want it to head. I always take reviews seriously and they make my day. Now, enjoy the new long chapter!_

The Flower Show

The soft fabric of a pink and cream-colored dress swayed inches above the grass as she walked ahead of them. She wore no hat. Her hair fell around her shoulders in large curls, pulled back from her face with a matching cameo pin; the scene depicted on it was one of Noah's Ark.

John walked several people behind her. Standing about a head taller than nearly everyone else, John was also one of the youngest people working at Downton. His broad shoulders and large tan hands made him look even bigger, but his handsome face betrayed his youth so much that it was almost an awkward fit. His eyes were sharp, hawkish, and exceedingly dark, but his smile so bright that it lit up the countenance underneath his thick black hair. That hair was the envy of every man and woman servant in Downton, except for perhaps Carson, who would have liked it shorter.

"She's a lovely young lady." Anna volunteered to John, whose eyes stayed intently trained upon Miss Abigail before them like a hunter upon his prey. "You two must be very close, growing up together. Does she treat you well?"

John's kind voice answered Anna, but his gaze did not shift. "Like a brother."

Somehow Anna doubted that exact description. She said nothing about it. She'd seen notes here and there, heard the others talk about how they were together. But both seemed nice enough people.

"Don't mind Mr. Carson; he's just not used to it friendship with the family. Lady Mary and I are actually sort of friends."

He held open the door for Anna and O'Brien who always regarded him with caution. Anna stayed back, waiting for Mr. Bates.

"Are you coming?" his deep voice asked.

"I'll be along in a minute."

"When Bates gets here." He smiled, raising his eyebrows.

"You mind your business, John." Anna teased. He smiled back, letting the others pass in between them.

"Thanks, John." William offered as he walked through the open door.

"Do you have a last name?" Anna asked. "It's just that we have two Johns here."

"I do not." He answered stoically.

"I beg your pardon." She offered quickly. "I am sorry. Is it part of your…culture?"

"Not _my_ culture," he stressed, implying he was fatherless she supposed.

"Do you have an Indian name?" Daisy asked, popping up. William stood by her, looking curious but bashful as usual.

He hesitated in revealing it, but seemed to trust present company. "Sleeping Wolf."

"Sleeping wolf?" William said in a mix of disbelief and pleasure.

"But why? Why did they give you that name?" Daisy wanted to know.

"Because a sleeping wolf is harmless, unless roused."

"Does Miss Abigail have an Indian name?"

"Of course not, Daisy." Anna admonished. "She's not an Indian, is she?"

Bates approached and the conversation ended; Daisy and William went inside to look at the flowers. Anna went through as well after giving her beau a sly grin and gentle touch on the hand. She daren't do more.

Bates watched her go, then observed the others, the tables of blossoms, brilliantly colored, open wide, filling the room with a luxurious buffet of smells. Sunlight streamed in, making the room and its occupants exude a faint glow. One occupant in particular, besides Anna of course, caught Bates' eye. Her hair down and uncovered, she stood out among the others. The golden locks, tinted with red like hay, caught the light and stood out against her pale skin. Her dress swayed about her legs, revealing her calves here and there. Someone might have admonished her for her appearance if something about her pink cheeks and big doe eyes, donning no adornment save a pink hair ribbon, were not so perfectly blameless.

"She looks like a picture of innocence." Bates commented to John, nodding towards the fresh complexion, loose hair, and light dress of Abigail Vandavere.

John did not answer.

"I'm afraid your plan backfired." Matthew whispered to Abigail as they leaned over various flower displays. She looked at him inquiringly. He pretended to smell a particularly fine looking rose. "I told Mr. Napier I was after you and he accepted my challenge."

"What?" They walked to the next table, trying not to be overheard.

"He said he was not going to give up so easily on such a lovely young woman," his voice taunting drawled over some zinnias. "He shook my hand and said may the best man for her win." He tried and failed to suppress a mocking smile.

"Oh Lord." They were separate by some villagers and he struggled to catch up with her again, whispering, "But at least he knows you're not _his_."

"Well, I suppose that's something." she answered dryly.

"I may have gone overboard," he added reluctantly. "Trying to convince him of my sincerity."

She narrowed her eyes in jest scrutiny.

"I told him that I was planning to propose. He said that if you were truly interested in saying yes you would not have given him permission to write."

"What if he thinks he has to propose sooner in case you do?" she all but hissed over the hyacinths.

"That won't happen." Matthew assured her, his voice firm.

"Well," she sighed. "You have utterly failed at the big brother job." Her face remaining serious, but her tone teased.

"Well if I can admit it, I am a little relieved."

"Too much pressure?"

"Well, it's only that I may want to find a different place for myself in your life."

Her fluid movements halted for moment while her expression remained unreadable; he instantly regretted his admission. However, there was no opportunity to salvage it. Mary interrupted him. Consequently, he would blush for weeks when he was alone and thinking of his blunder. 'A friend,' he should have said. 'A very dear friend.'

Abigail was summoned by Edith and he took the chance to let Mary know he was glad they friends once more, but relieved they were nothing more. And with that, he dismissed himself as the judging began. He needed to go and stand by his mother before she started a brawl.

John watched Edith speak snidely to her sister. Saw Lady Mary's expression grow dark and she snuck out of the show unnoticed. He was standing at the door, looking in at Abigail. Lady Mary did not see him at first and nearly ran into him as she bolted outside.

"Excuse me," she offered unsteadily.

"Excuse me." John answered automatically, letting her by.

The dew-covered grass was slick, a rock loose, and she slipped a few feet from the door. He grabbed her upper arms and kept her from falling. "Got you." He grunted, pulling her upright.

"Thank you." She answered with dignity, even as embarrassed as she must have been.

"Flowers bothering you?" he asked, offering her an excuse for her misty eyes and rough voice.

"Yes. I think so." He extended a plain white handkerchief the servants were supplied with, and she accepted it. "Some sort of allergy." She mumbled.

He said nothing, allowing her own lie to comfort her. She dabbed her beautiful face dry until it was stone again. Cold and inexpressive, like a great marble floor, taking a pounding as it's trod upon again and again. "Keep it."

She smiled that tight smile she had when she did not feel she could trust herself answer.

"It's like this everywhere, you know?"

"I'm sorry?" she stiffened. He was utterly unbothered.

"The prettiest girls are always made to cry."

She tried to smile with gratitude. She failed. "Well, perhaps I deserve it."

His eyes, so fierce and dark, stared through her. His hair was caught by the breeze. His skin glowed in the warm sunlight. He was beautiful, she realized, as if seeing him for the first time. He reminded her of Mr. Pamuk in a way, certainly exotic, but there was also something very different. Something not so…dirty.

"I doubt it if you are half as hard on yourself as you are judging others, which I assume you are. The world is not as small as you think." He commented.

"Cannot be large enough to hide me."

"Anything I can do?"

"No." She shook her head. If only her own father had cared enough to make her an heiress. 'You are my darling daughter and I love you' she recalled his words. But not enough to protect her, not enough to free her from having to charm and trap men to keep herself in a position. He cared enough to Downton and to protect Matthew, his darling Matthew. "You don't happen to have a fortune, do you?" she scoffed.

John's face was unreadable, stone. She realized herself and her comment and scrambled for an apology, "Oh I'm sorry, John, forgive me. Thank you for this." She retreated inside with haste. She had such a gift for saying such careless things, but it was probably for the best. It was dangerous to be her sympathizer and men that poor and that good looking were nothing she needed to be involved with at the moment. Not if she was going to win back Matthew.

"Damn! Damn it all!" Lord Grantham exclaimed, slamming his fist down upon the desk of his study.

"Are you alright?" a slight, young voice asked from the settee. He might have jumped in surprise if he had not been so tired that afternoon.

"Oh yes. I'm sorry." He apologized, embarrassed. "I forgot you were here."

"No need to apologize. It is _your_ library." Cora's cousin so reminded him of his wife when they were younger that he almost forgot his own age when she first spoke, thinking it was Cora. It tendered him to her.

"Even so, that's no language to use in front of a young lady."

"Might I be terribly nosey and ask what's wrong? Maybe I can help."

"No I don't think anyone can help. There's no way around it. I just can't see any other option." He said speaking mostly to himself. He stared down at the ledger, as if expecting it to magically change and make his life simpler.

"Any other option but what exactly?" She walked towards him slowly. He knew she was being rude, even if she did not. "I'm not asking after your finances," she assured him. "Only I do manage my own estate, and I know that sometimes just running things over a fresh pair of eyes can help you see things you are overlooking."

He sighed. She was so young and full of concern, wanting to help. Improper as it may be, he did not see the harm in just venting his frustrations this once. After all, he had sworn in front of her, so the least he could do was calm her worry.

"One of the farmers who works the estate can no longer pay or keep up as much of her farm. And she's not the only one. Without them contributing to Downton, I see no way to keep them on. Not when there are other families who could do so much with that opportunity. I can find somewhere for them to go, of course, but they will have to go sadly. It's an awfully unpleasant business, but as I said I don't see another alternative."

She looked thoughtfully upon him for a long moment.

"May I visit them first?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Perhaps there is something I can do to help them, or at least see what their talents are in finding them a new place. My uncle has a factory in London."

To hear a woman, a girl even, talk of opening businesses threw him for a moment. "You really think you can help?" he asked, his lack of confidence evident.

"Maybe." She shrugged.

"Well I don't see any harm in meeting them. It's Mrs. Black and the Foxburrys. Edith can take you." He humored her, half to get her out of his hair.

"Thank you." She said and was silent once more. He looked up again to ask why she thought she could help, but she was already gone. He shrugged it off as harmless meddling of child hoping to help her caretakers. He hoped she was not too disappointed.

The Earl finally gave up turning over the sums again and again when Sybil appeared in her diplomatic state. He knew she was up to something, but he never imagined it would be too much trouble so he of course gave his consent for she and Abigail to take the car to town the following day and miss dinner. He was more than reluctant after her fiasco with the horse and the political nonsense, but all the same, it did not feel right locking her up from her charity events forever. As long as she brought a pal into the gloom along with her.

"I really need to learn to put my foot down with these females." He told his wife that evening.

"Why is that?"

"I let Sybil and Abigail talk me into things I'd never agree to normally."

"Abigail talked you into something?" his wife did not attempt to conceal her surprise.

"She wants to try to help Mrs. Black the window and Foxburrys. I don't see how she can, but I saw no harm as she just wants to repay us for having her here, so I told her she could go visit them."

"Well, at least she's talking. And what about Sybil? What did she con you into agreeing to?"

"Letting her take the car to town tomorrow for some charity thing. Branson is going and Abigail or I'd have said no. I think I did say no to begin with and yet I ended up saying yes." He sighed.

"Oh, Robert. You're so much nicer than you give yourself credit for."

"Softer you mean." He corrected gruffly.

"Well it has taken me a lot of work over the years to make you susceptible to feminine charm, but thank you for saying I've been successful."

"That's not funny."

She seemed to think it was.

"Shall we ride?" Mary asked, just running into the American.

"I was just going for a walk." Abigail attempted to skirt by, looking preoccupied and pocketing a piece of paper.

Mary had seen Matthew on the grounds just moments ago, looking for her father to inquire about a farm on the grounds. She knew they would meet if Abigail insisted on her walk. That must not happen. They must not have any more time alone.

"I was hoping you might lend me your ear."

"I'll go and put on my boots."

Mary smiled and waited. As they walked down to the stables, Abigail was content to wait silently for Mary to speak.

"Have you heard about William's mother? He's ill and forbids us to tell William. I object. Do you think I should do so?"

"Of course you should. Tactfully. And you will of course. You did not want to talk about this."

"Are you always so frank?"

"You know I am."

"Very well. You're right. That's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about." She stalled for time. Looking around she saw a tall impressive silhouette against the stables. John and William were brushing a horse.

"John."

She stopped walking.

"John?" her response gave Lady Mary pause. She tried to keep the surprise from her face. There was something to be explored there.

"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"

"Realize what?"

"Well, it's just that, I thought you were just friends."

"You find him attractive?"

"Well,"

"Most women do." She smiled.

"As do you?"

"I think he looks like a buffalo robe." She laughed, turning with Mary to watch the young men converse happily about horses.

"You've seen one of those, have you?"

"Yes."

"You've seen quite a lot."

Her expression changed as the wind blew a few strands of hair free. They fluttered in the breeze, light in comparison to her laden expression. "More than you want to know."

"I was thinking about what you said. About being friends. I want to tell you a secret."

She faced her. For the first time, Mary wondered if her lie would be convincing.

"I think I'm in love with John." She tried to look desperate, lovesick. She tried to bring tears to her eyes with thoughts of Pamuk. "He's so intriguing. So dark and handsome…and strange. I cannot tell, by his nature, if he loves me or not. I thought, since you were close, you might be able to tell me." To prove her story, she produced his handkerchief.

Cousin Abigail raised an eyebrow and looked towards the boys. John's eyes bridged the distance and Mary felt a shudder run through her. She concealed the cloth again.

"I will find out for you."

"Would you? Thank you." Her relief was genuine. "Now, it's your turn."

"Not it's not." Abigail answered simply, taking the reins of her horse.

"Isn't that how it works? A secret for a secret?" Mary protested.

"That's how it works." Abigail confirmed, mounting. "But _that_ was not your secret."

_A/N: So….thoughts? Secrets? John? Mary? Matthew? Tell me what was your favorite or least favorite part by leaving a review. Thanks for reading!_


	8. The Vote

_A/N: Thanks for the fantastic response. To show my appreciation for your marvelous reviews, here's another chapter right away. I do hope you enjoy it!_

The Vote

Downstairs, the servants buzzed with happiness for Mr. Moseley's prize and Mr. Carson felt a warm spot in his heart for the Dowager Countess yet again, bowing even in the face of adversity—known as Cousin Isobel—to make nice Mr. Moseley happy.

"Mr. Carson," The butler stopped as Miss Vandavere accosted him. The others cleared the hall to give them space. O'Brien threw Thomas a significant look. "I know you are busy, Mr. Carson, but Mary said I should come to you."

"How can I be of assistance, Miss?"

"Well, you see I very much want to be a help." He gulped in horror, hoping she was not planning to take to the kitchens. "Only I don't want to intrude. The other day I was reading in the library Lord Grantham got angry dealing with his ledger. As he was apologizing for swearing in front of me, I found out he was concerned about some tenant farms he'd have to get rid of…well, I really don't want to make him angry so I thought maybe you could tell him my idea."

"And what might that be?"

"I visited these farmers, on the pretense of wanting to learn the community and farming. I found that one has a very nice herb garden, so I had John talk to Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Pattmore. He discovered they are lacking in some of those herbs and others were expensive. I thought if she could grow them all in her garden, Downton would have them fresher and that would help the exchange. And the other family has a young daughter, May. So I am to take May on my ladies maid."

Mr. Carson stopped and examined the young girl before him. "That's a clever arrangement, Miss Vandavere."

"Do you think he will mind?"

"Not at all. I think his Lordship will be quite pleased at your enterprise."

"Well would you do me a favor and tell him anyway? I'd rather not."

"If you insist, Miss."

"Thank you very much Carson. Mary was right about you." And with that she was gone, leaving the old man nearly blushing. Nearly.

Carson entered the library as he had one thousand times. "My Lord," he announced, bowing as he entered.

"Yes Carson?" His Lordship answered from the couch.

"Miss Vandavere asked me to speak with you, My Lord."

"Whatever about?" The Dowager Countess stood as Carson saw the Earl groan silently.

"Forgive me, your ladyship. I can tell you later, My Lord." He had already begun to leave when she gingerly raised her hand.

"No, no not at all. Please do as Miss Vandavere wishes." He answer was sardonic.

Trapped, Carson answered. "She went to see the two farmers you were concerned for—"

"Which farmers?"

"Black and Foxburry." Grantham informed her. "Go on, Carson."

Carson nodded and continued. "Well, she spoke to them and she also talked to Mrs. Hughes, or had John do so. She believes that Mrs. Black has an herb garden which could greatly supplement what Downton stores and reduce the price while assuring they where fresher than some which we buy from the village. Foxburry's eldest daughter, May, she offered the position as her ladies maid. With one less mouth to feed and whatever money she sends home," He left the rest unsaid.

Grantham sighed, relaxing in his chair. "That settles the discrepancy in funds."

"Well, that's rather clever." Violet remarked looking back and forth between the two men, clearly surprised.

"Indeed." Robert agreed with his mother.

"I thought so, My Lord." Carson was pleased he took it well, though his lordship looked deep in thought.

"Why did she not want to tell me herself before she left this morning?" he asked his butler.

"I imagine she was not sure that you'd be pleased, my Lord. I was given the impression that she very much wanted to help but very much did not want to pry."

"Nonsense. Matthew and I have been wracking our brains over this business. He'll be very pleased to know she's figured it out." He spoke slowly, as if something about it bothered him. If they had been in private, he would have hazarded to ask.

"Well you're not going to tell him, are you?" His mother all but sputtered.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Tell him you had the idea, or better yet Mary."

"Mary?" he scoffed. "She's never shown the slightest curiosity in these matters."

"You know Robert," the Dowager Countess began. "You could show a little more concern for her chances in this.

"That will be all, Carson." Lord Grantham dismissed him.

Although Charlie Carson would never dream of mentioned anything he had heard in confidence of the household, his ears rang with idea all evening.

"I wish you would tell me what's got you so distracted." Mrs. Hughes whispered to him as he poured the wine for dinner. The others ran amuck in preparations and would not notice so he lowered his voice and told her of the exchange. Mrs. Hughes was very pleased at Miss Vandavere's resourcefulness and at the fact she'd have a ladies maid.

"So what about that has you worried? Afraid we might get bored with not enough work to do?"

He shook his head, trying to phrase exactly what about it had bothered him. "I just don't like anything that puts the state of the house into complications. We've had enough."

"I don't see how Miss Abigail and John have been anything but a help to Downton." Mrs. Hughes was on to him, it seemed.

"Not a burden, but a complication."

"I see what's bothering you; it's the same thing bothering the Dowager Countess."

"Oh?"

"Well you want what's best for Downton and you want what's best for Lady Mary, which until now has been one and the same."

"Until now?" He asked skeptically.

"Well, with her cleverness and her fortune… it would be a complication indeed if what's best for Downton stopped being what's best for Lady Mary Crawley." Mrs. Hughes tipped her head, and left him with this food for thought.

It was preposterous. The idea that anyone could be better for Downton Abbey than Mary Crawley! Well, it was like Thomas had said: an America and lawyer inheriting the estate. He was the first to acknowledge John had been a help and that Miss Vandavere's idea was clever, but cleverness and helpfulness was no substitute for fine breeding and tradition. He must do whatever was best for Downton. And that was to protect Lady Mary.

"So John is not coming?" Cousin Abigail asked, pulling her rust-colored coat on.

"He can't." Sybil explained again. "We'd have to tell Branson where we really going. We'll be fine."

"Sybil, you know this is a bad idea."

"I am not going to miss the vote! I thought for sure, you'd be behind me."

"I am right behind you." Abigail followed her through the door. "I just don't think this is going to end the way you think it is. Your father is right. These things can be dangerous."

"We'll arrive just in time and be in and out; no one will be any the wiser." Abigail eyed Sybil's smart hat with doubt. Pressing a finger to her full lips, Sybil signaled silence on the topic as they neared the car. Then, smiling as innocently as she could, but looking much too excited to be going to some boring meeting, Sybil climbed in with the help of Branson. The two chatted normally until they neared their destination and the commotion was evident.

"Here!" Sybil said, all ready to exit the car.

"Your meeting is in one of these buildings?" Branson asked.

"_This_ is the meeting. You didn't think I'd miss my first by election, did you?"

"Mi'Lady, it isn't safe here!" Brandon shouted.

"I'll watch out for her, Branson." Abigail consoled, slipping past his hands as he tried to grab their coats.

"No, wait! I have to park the car!" But his fearful face only glimpsed the backside of two young girls running blindly into danger.

What had that gorgeous little devil gotten him into? If Lord Grantham found out it would be his job and if anything happened to them—glory be—it would be his life. He could see John's giant, tan hands stretching around his neck now. He parked and sprinted where he had seen the girls go in; they were leaving if he had to drag them out.

Matthew was walking home when he heard the ruckus. Tired from working late, he'd completely forgotten about the by election until he was upon its effects. He thought about walking another way to avoid it when he spotted a familiar car and what he thought was Branson's back. Who from Downton was in town at that time of day? Feeling an uneasy sense, he dropped in to see and what he did see made him seethe and go pale with worry and anger.

"Abigail!" He grabbed her elbow the moment they were within his reach. She turned to him and he was surprised to find her face relieved to see him amongst the rowdy crowd. Of course, this was Sybil's doing.

"Matthew!" Sybil looked not the least bit put out at being discovered. In fact, she was reveling in it, but the crowd was growing louder and more audacious. Branson looked as nervous as fox during a hunt.

"My Lady, please." Branson was pleading.

"We need to leave." Matthew insisted, quite sure the Earl of Grantham never agreed to this.

"Just a moment," Sybil urged, her pretty face alight with youthful stupidity.

"Branson's right; it's not safe here."

"Alright," she huffed. "Abigail?" Matthew turned and felt a cold weight hit his gut. She was gone. There was a struggle in the crowd and some men barged their way through. Their faces made it plain they were looking for trouble. There were several, he could not see how many, and they carried things with them which he also could not yet make out. But it set his skin alight with fear.

Branson spotted them too. He rushed forward and grabbed one. Then man reared his fist back to strike the chauffeur but stopped when he caught his accent. "I'm on your side! Just, this isn't the right place. Please!"

They shoved him backwards forcefully. He would have fallen if not for the disgruntled men he crashed into. They were already on edge. There was soon to be a brawl, the heir of Downton was sure. He pushed Sybil behind him, scanned the crowd for Abigail, and was bumped into by one of the burly Irishmen now storming the yard.

"What's your problem?" The man sneered.

"My problem is you."

They exchanged blows. Matthew felt nothing from the fists, would not until later, but he felt a sharp pain in his chest and thought perhaps the coward had pulled a knife. Sybil screamed. He looked down at his chest where he fancied he could feel a wound. He saw nothing.

"No!" Branson yelled in frustration, his mouth bleeding. Heads turned to a spot on the ground where a figure laid. A small heap, a dress, on the filthy ground. He went to her, grabbed her, and was relieved to find her conscious. "Abigail." He breathed.

"I'm okay." He took her face in his hands and was satisfied for the moment. Lifting her to her feet, Matthew saw Branson take a firm hold of Sybil and without a word they ducked out as glass broke and shouts grew.

"Get in the car." Matthew ordered. The girls, so fiery a moment ago, let go of women's rights for a moment and obeyed.

Helping them up, Matthew glared at Branson who looked at him first in agony, then in horror. Matthew followed his gaze and looked down at his hands to find one covered in blood.

"Abigail!" The movement required to step into the car and then turn quickly made her dizzy, and Matthew caught her as she lost consciousness. There was blood under her hair.

"We have to go to your mother's! She's a nurse. And your home is closer." Sybil urged.

"Very well." Matthew held her, then turning to Sybil. "What were you doing there? Why the in hell would you take two young girls there?" He demanded of Branson.

"I didn't know!" Branson protested. "I would have never put them in danger."

"It's true. I lied. He had no idea we were going."

"Did she?" He motioned to the girl laying across the seat and resting upon him.

"Of course. She told me it would dangerous, but we had a right to be there."

"That was extremely childish of you, Sybil." She shrunk from him, abashed. He held pressure to the other girl's head wound as they sped to Crawley house.

Mary entered Crawly house, her stomach in knots, wringing her hands. Matthew paced back and forth in own living room where they had spoken just a couple of days prior. His eyes met hers as she felt helpless. Sybil rushed to Mary's side as she her older sister entered the room.

"What's happened?" Mary demanded, trying keep the thankfulness from her voice that it was not her baby sister on the couch.

"It was my fault. I wanted to hear the result of the vote. Abigail agreed to come with me. Branson did not know what we had planned."

"What 'we' had planned? Was this her doing or yours?"

"All mine."

"All done," Mrs. Crawley said, finishing up.

A voice replied steadily, "I'm fine."

"You gave us a scare." A collective sigh of relief filled the room.

"I'm fine." She repeated.

"Sybil, come and let me make sure you're fine." Mrs. Crawley led them from the room and for the moment Mary was torn.

"Go on." She told to her younger sister, who reluctantly followed. Mary remained in the doorway, both Matthew and his mother in her view.

He leaned over the couch as she tried to sit up. "No, no, please. Lie back. You need to rest."

"I am sorry."

"It's not your fault. Though I am a little mad at you for getting away from me in there."

"I should not have gone."

"Don't be ridiculous." Mary interrupted. "If you had not had gone, it could have been Sybil who was hurt. And she's not nearly as tough as you. But don't tell her that," she smiled.

Matthew looked at her, puzzled.

"We had better get you both home." He helped her up, but she insisted on walking.

"Yes. Papa is going to hit to roof."

"Lean on me." Matthew insisted, his arm around her. Mary watched him lead her away and caught his mother staring at her. Steeling herself, she took her sister's arm and followed him to the car.

Matthew noticed Branson wiped his forehead three or four times before they arrived. The driver offered his apologies to Mary once more and told them he was so glad they were both alright, Matthew gave him a sympathetic nod and followed closely behind Miss Vandavere, who insisted on walking without assistance. The two of them waited in silence for Mary and Sybil to break the news their parents. They heard shouting upstairs and exchanged worried glances.

John stormed into the study, livid.

"What the hell—"

"I beg your pardon." Matthew interrupted. John seemed surprised to see the man, then ignored him and bore down upon the girl sitting before him. Underneath John's imposing and looming form, she looked especially small.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded, so furious that his hands were fists.

"I wasn't. It was Sybil's idea. The vote,"

"You were hurt. It could have been," he paused. "Worse. You weren't supposed to go alone."

"I know, but Sybil couldn't let Branson know the truth of where we were headed."

"You know better." His voice was pained. Matthew marveled at their conversation and John, reaching out to touch her, retracted and straightened as Mrs. Hughes entered the room.

"John?"

"Ma'am." He offered no explanation.

"Miss Abigail and Mr. Crawley, there are sandwiches for you in dining room. Lady Mary said you might be hungry."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." Matthew smiled. The servants left and he was close behind her in case she should feel unwell. "You know, she confuses me."

"Mary?"

"Yes. One minute I swear she's out for my throat and the next she's making sure we're fed."

"Mary is in a very difficult position that often does not allow her to be herself."

"And if she were herself would she be kinder or crueler?"

"Both I think."

"I did not realize John would be so upset." She did not answer, but took a strawberry instead. He bit a sandwich and sipped his tea.

"Abigail?" she looked at him. They were a foot apart. "You said something when were last alone and I wanted to ask you about it before we are disturbed again. They certainly won't leave us for long."

"Yes?"

"My mother asked you if you hoped to become anything in particular with your education and I did not catch exactly what you said."

"That's what you want to know?" She blinked. Was it possible he had surprised her?

"Yes; specifically you said, 'I don't—'"

"Hope."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, 'I don't hope.'"

Mr. Carson waited in his office after Mrs. Hughes said goodnight. John was outside venting his frustrations upon the gardens and Branson was nervously awaiting his fate. Carson hated it when things were so up-heaved and unsettled that the house could not even rest. He was surprised to be interrupted by a visitor. She laid a folder piece of paper on the desk before him.

"What is this, Mrs. O'Brien?"

"I don't know, sir, but I found it and I thought perhaps you should have a look at it."

Carson picked up the letter, adopted his glasses, and squinted, trying to read it. "It appears to be in code." He remarked, curious.

"That's what I thought, too. Until I overheard John talking to Daisy. He showed her how to write his name in his language. And it looked an awful lot like that writing there."

"I see. So this belongs to John?"

"Well, that's just it Mr. Carson. That's Miss Abigail's handwriting."

_A/N: Dun, dun, dun. Well, what do you think of our little mess?_


	9. The Letters

Chapter 9: The Letters

"I'm so sorry, Miss. I am so sorry!" Gwen pleaded as soon as she was in the door of Miss Abigail's room. Miss Abigail looked up from her dressing table, mildly surprised. "You're going to hate me!" Gwen's voice cracked and she began to feel tears cover her freckles.

"Sit down, Gwen."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sit down." She repeated calmly, fastening her earrings. Gwen sat gingerly upon the foot of the bed, not quite comfortable doing so.

"Now," Abigail turned to face her. "Take a deep breath." Gwen's body shook as she drew the air and pushed it out. "What is all the fuss about?"

"I don't know how it happened, but I couldn't find John last night and I laid the letter down in my room and when I came back later it was gone! Disappeared!" She blurted in a rush.

"Well, no one can read it, can they?" She seemed cool and unbothered.

"What?" Gwen blinked, puzzled. She shook her head and tried to clarify. "The only thing I can think is O'Brien went in my room again and took it and she probably handed it over to Mr. Carson or is going to do so."

"Gwen, the letter is in Sioux. They can't read a word of it, not even the names. It would look just as scandalous to accuse me without proof. Besides, Lady Mary is the one who has his handkerchief."

"Lady Mary?" asked Gwen, incredulous. Perhaps she had misheard.

"Oh, it's nothing I'm sure." Her expression was shadowed with concern, but it passed. "Now, how did that job interview go?"

Gwen hung her head. "I heard back. They filled the position with someone better qualified and more experienced. I've come to return your bag."

"You'll need it for next time."

"But we agreed—"She began.

"Gwen, now what on earth would I want with a bag that's got your initials in it?" Miss Vandavere stood and walked to wardrobe as she spoke, beginning to get dressed herself. Gwen scrambled through the bag she'd barely dared to touch for fear something might happened to it. There, inside the lining at the top, in red thread were Gwen's initials.

"You said it was used." She breathed in amazement.

"I lied. Do you have my riding boots?" She asked. And staring at her- lit up by the sunlight streaming in the window behind her, grey eyes bright and cold as jewels, thick hair falling askew, flawless skin stretched across strong, distinguished bones of a tiny frame- Gwen took in the sight of her and knew she had never seen such a lady. As much as lady Lady Sybil, title or not. New money or not. Foreigner or no. Miss Vandavere stood like a queen, like she should have been born a queen, the beloved type that everyone wanted to kiss but couldn't dare look at; and trying not to cry, she fought the impulse to bow or to grab her in a hug by fleeing the room at break neck speed.

It was Daisy who had heard it from O'Brien and Thomas, and she in turn told it to Mr. Mosely, who thought all things considered he might best mention it to the lady of his house, as she was already picking out the best wedding dates for Matthew and Abigail.

By morning, as everyone readied, Anna told Mary, who responded with surprise, "John?"

"Yes milady. So you see she can't be too interested in Mr. Crawley."

Lady Mary only sighed. "If only being interested in one boy meant a woman did need not be interested in more."

"I beg your pardon, milady?" It was Anna's turn to be shocked.

"John is handsome, but he is poor."

"Well, surely she has enough money for the both of them."

"Surely." Mary agreed, but she made a note to go and tell Granny the news over lunch; the woman would think Christmas had come early.

Mr. Carson entered the library, this time determined.

"I'm afraid we have a problem, My Lord." He announced.

"Downstairs?" Her ladyship inquired.

Carson regretfully shook his head. "Not exactly, My Lady."

"What on earth can you mean?" Lord Grantham asked, befuddled.

Carson produced the letter from his pocket. "Mrs. O'Brien gave this to me last night. It's a private letter that appears to be written in code."

"In code?"

"It seems to be addressed to John, in his, er, language."

"I see." Lord Grantham said darkly.

"Who sent it?" Lady Grantham asked.

"Well it's not signed, I was hoping your Ladyship might recognize the handwriting." Her husband handed her reading glasses from the desk.

Cora's brow creased as she took the letter. Her face was filled with disbelief. Upset, she put the letter down. "It's Miss Vandavere's." She admitted sadly. Carson nodded grimly. He hated to subject the lady of the house to this, but he knew that if he had suggested it she would have defended her right away.

"God Lord!" Lord Grantham remarked.

"I do not wish to intrude sir, but I only feared it was a lady's handwriting and with the letters being found by staff I'd hate for word to circulate that would put the house in scandal." Cora's eyes grew big at this, as if she wished to say something but did not.

"This is very bad." Lord Grantham lamented. "First she nearly gets Sybil killed, now it turns out she's been passing love letters to her servant behind our backs this whole time."

"That's not fair." Lady Grantham protested, and Carson had to agree. "You know it was Sybil's idea."

"Yes, but she went along with it, and should have known better!" he raged.

"She's even younger than Sybil; if anyone's responsible it's her, as hard as that is for us to admit." She corrected quietly.

"And this? Are you going to defend this scandal too?" he demanded brandishing the letter, but he seemed already half-defeated.

"No." she answered plainly. Carson approved, but she added, "But I do think you should ask her about it. Maybe it's much more innocent than it looks."

"It's how it looks that matters. Do you want this house devoured in scandal? I should have known by how they are together. And what about Matthew?"

"What about Matthew?" she asked. Carson's eyebrows too raised, his interest peaked.

Lord Grantham looked about him as if the furniture would help.

"Matthew has feelings for her."

"Are you sure?" Lady Cora all but gasped.

"Don't look so surprised." He husband snapped. "We knew this was a possibility when we took her in. Do you have any idea what it would do to him if he found out she was carrying on with the servant?"

Carson knew, as did Lady Grantham, exactly what it would do. Drive him into Lady Mary's reach once more, but her mother was certainly right about one thing.

"I shall ask first, My Lord. I would hate," he looked at Lady Cora with significance. "For someone's reputation to be compromised on a lie." He gave Mary the benefit of a doubt; he gave Bates the benefit of a doubt. He should at least ask the servants. After all, one of them had to be delivering them if the letter was found on the ladies' hall.

"Very well Carson. What I wouldn't give for a break from the brink of disaster in this house." Her ladyship remained silent and Carson realized she had indeed taken care of the rumors about Lady Mary by wisely keeping her husband oblivious.

A flutter of white maid's apron and bright red hair burst through the door to the library in a rush.

"My Lord!" Gwen bowed.

"Gwen!" Carson exclaimed. The girl practically trembled.

"I am sorry to disturb you, sir, Mr. Carson," she apologized. "But when they said downstairs what you were doing here I knew I had to do the right thing."

"And what is that?" Lord Grantham wanted to know.

"To tell the truth. I can't let Miss Abigail get into trouble for my mischief."

"Your mischief?"

"It was my room where Mrs. O'Brien got the letter. You can ask her yourself. She took it from there."

"Are you suggesting that my maid stole from you?"

"No your ladyship," Gwen was quick to amend as she spoke up from the couch. "It may have fallen on the floor or she may have been fetching something for me and saw it thinking it weren't mine, but it was."

"Yours?"

"It's me that's been writing to John. Her ladyship has been helping so no one can read it. That's all. She just did me a favor. And Branson has been giving John the letters as well."

"I see." Lord Grantham was doubtful.

"Please," Gwen appealed to them. "Ask O'Brien. Ask Branson."

"Thank you, Gwen," said Lady Grantham, "for coming forward."

"Yes, Mi'lady. I understand if you want to sack me."

"You may go now, Gwen. I shall ask the others as you say." Carson dismissed her.

"I apologize, My Lord." He said shamefully once Gwen had slinked away.

"No need Carson. You had no reason to know there was such a complicated explanation."

"Aren't you glad we did not jump to any conclusions?" His wife asked. He shot her a humorless look.

"Now what's this about Matthew?" She leaned forward in her seat as Carson was leaving, lowering her voice.

Anna noticed Gwen looking unwell again as they made up the beds.

"Gwen?" she prompted cautiously. The girl dissolved before her.

"Oh that's the end of me!" Gwen trembled, her voice as unsteady as the rest of her.

"What?" Anna asked, concerned.

Gwen sat again, and dissolved into tears. Mr. Bates and John, who were passing, poked their heads in with worried expressions. Anna gave them a helpless look and they, checking the coast was clear, darted inside and shut the door.

Anna hugged Gwen as John crossed the room and knelt before her, taking her hands in his own large ones his handsome and intimidating face looked up into hers expectantly. Her breath hitched.

"Oh God not you!"

"Hush!" Anna scolded, eyeing the door. Bates' sweet eyes smiled at Gwen fatherly.

John laughed. "Why not me?"

"I have told His Lordship, Her Ladyship, and Mr. Carson that the love note Mrs. O'Brien turned in was from me and that Miss Abigail was just helping us communicate our forbidden letters." She covered her mouth in horror. The last words barely audible.

"You did that?"

"I had to. After everything she did for me... I lost the letter anyway; it was my fault."

"Gwen, you are a queen." He kissed her on the cheek, causing her to blush violently, and darted from the room.

"Where are you going?" Bates called after him.

"To tell Mr. Carson he can't fire my love, of course." He smiled widely, dazzlingly. Anna was struck, not for the first time, by his beauty. There was no other word for it. His stern features, exotically tan skin, manly build, his height, his smile. To a woman whose heart was not taken she her was, he was intoxicating. And she wondered, knowing Lady Mary's preference, if she had noticed.

Bates shook his head at John's hurrying form. Anna was hit simultaneously wave of relief, thrill of confused laughter, and a pang of jealousy. She looked at Bates with longing.

"I'll help her finish up here." Bates offered.

"Go on," Anne urged the red headed girl with a wink. "Go and stand by your lover."

"Oh shut it." Gwen rolled her eyes and left the two alone.

"Do you really love her?" Mary said as she accosted John in the hall, spying him alone. Her mother had informed her that Cousin Abigail would not leaving the house in shame as it was a maid who was to blame, guiltless Abigail simply helping the lovers. Still, she had not taken the man to be one to like the Gwen and didn't recall once seeing them together.

"No." He replied, amused.

"No?"

"Not at all. She took the fall for Miss Abigail."

"What?"

"It was us exchanging letters."

"Good Lord. What about?" She made her voice only mildly interested.

"This one says that we can trust you." He held one up from his jacket pocket. "And this one is about Evelyn Napier annoying her." Mary snorted a little. "And this one is about Matthew."

"Does she like Matthew?"

"I think so. But don't worry. She won't marry him."

"Oh?"

But before they could be continue the conversation further, a voice rose up from the hall as it neared and Mary watched his impressive form disappear down the corridor. She wondered what his body would feel like underneath that cloth.

Mary found Matthew downstairs under the pretense of dinner, but he had really called to see if Miss Abigail and Lady Sybil were feeling well. He looked particularly sharp, Mary noticed. But not perhaps as muscular as John. But John was not to be thought about. John was poor, she reminded herself.

"Quiet day today?" Matthew prompted conversationally. Mary seized what might be her only opportunity.

"There's been a bit of a tumult in the house I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"It seems Cousin Abigail and John have been passing secret letters in code." She informed him with her voice full of amused scandal.

"Have they?" His disappointment was evident.

"Yes. I thought it odd she traveled with a male servant, but I assumed it was an American thing." Mary tried to brush it off as they walked the few paces to join the others. Matthew was silent. Without thinking, she heard herself elaborate, "But, as it turns out that was a mistake it was a servant. Cousin Abigail was helping them hide their romance." It was almost painful to admit and even more so to see Matthew's expression brighten. It was so unlike her, but she supposed spilling the beans on Cousin Abigail would just make Matthew think of her as the shark he pictured her as already. She sighed as he politely took her arm, his hand on her perhaps but his mind settled closely on another.

A/N: Thanks for reading! More complications to come...don't worry. Please don't hesitate to leave a review! I hope to post the next chapter soon... it's called Secrets.


	10. The Opportunity

_Disclaimer: Downton is not mine. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No profit was made; no copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading! So sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy this longer chapter. Please take a second to leave a review.

The Opportunity

John smiled and winked at Gwen from where he stood against the wall in the corridor as dinner dishes flew past, steaming.

Mrs. Hughes caught it. "John, just because you have confessed your love to Gwen does not mean you subject us all to watching it." She told him.

"Sorry ma'am." John smiled, and it was impossible even for Mrs. Hughes to be cross.

His face, however, quickly fell. It became dark, like a stone carving, like a native for the first time. It was unnerving to Daisy, who dropped a plate at the mere sight of it.

"Daisy!" Mrs. Patmore admonished.

"John?" William asked his new friend, concerned.

"Rabbit stew?" John asked.

"Yes! what—oh dear…"I—I forgot." Mrs. Patmore realized slowly.

"Is it dangerous?" Daisy asked, recalling John's careful instructions on their first day there that Miss Abigail could not have rabbit. John somehow had the bearing of mind to grab a dinner jacket and tug it on even as he leapt the stairs, his long legs bringing him up two at a time.

"You can't go through." Thomas stopped his path. The two glared at one another.

"Move!" John growled. Thomas's cold face was unwavering, his characteristic smirk stretching across his lips as the others looked on in horror, feet below the oblivious family and the stern presence of Mr. Carson.

"I hope you have fully recovered, Miss Abigail." Matthew offered, though he had to speak practically across the room to do so at dinner. His look implied he was well aware he had to speak louder to maintain conversation.

"I am, thank you." She smiled slightly. It was an earnest smile that Matthew felt the need to return, and though very mild, he also felt the need to look down at his plate.

"Well," The Dowager Countess all but huffed. "I'm certainly hope you both got that out of your system." Edith gave a little start, assuming her grandmother was addressing their cousins. Her comment, it seemed, however had been directed at the girls. "Oh to be so young, fiery, and political that you throw caution to the winds and endanger yourselves and others."

"Mama." Lord Grantham stopped her scolding. The girls had certainly had enough of it.

"Actually, I have, Granny." Sybil surprised them. "I think I have matured."

"Glad to hear it, dear." Everyone was still cautious.

"And following my coming out this season, I think I'd like to go to school in America."

"What?" Lord Grantham demanded.

Matthew contained a cringe. He had half suspected Sybil's already curious, feminist mindset had been only inflamed by the presence of her dear cousin, whom it seemed was quite intelligent, but he had hoped her inevitable, eventual interest in traveling across the Atlantic might be voiced when he was not present at dinner.

"Did you put this idea in her head?" The lord demanded of Abigail whom Matthew felt the need to defend. But Cora spoke up first.

"Robert."

"No, Lord Grantham." She responded calmly. "I've not."

"It's my idea, Papa. Just as the vote was, only this one is a great deal more responsible." Sybil explained. "I've already begun researching schools in New York. There is so much to study, Papa! I could travel with Cousin Abigail when she returns and John, so it would be safe. And I could stay with Mama's family."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Isobel Crawley said happily.

"Please, let's stay out of it, Mother." Matthew tried not to groan. He attempted to make eye contact with Abigail, but she seemed rather distant. Perhaps he had over stepped in his concern for her.

"It's a terrible idea!" Grantham objected. "An ocean away?"

"I won't stay there forever." His youngest daughter said fondly.

"What would you study?" Edith asked in earnest, so pleased, Matthew assumed, with her recent outings with a certain neighboring gentleman that she had only friendly interest in her sister's affairs. Whatever would make her happy seemed sufficient to Edith, as if what would make people happiest was always best, or safe. Sit Strallan was a smart man with means, but Matthew was very surprised to hear of his age. But poor Edith did not have many choices, he thought sadly. He supposed he was somewhat to blame for that as well.

"I'm not sure. There are so many possibilities." Sybil gushed.

"We can discuss this later." Cora offered sweetly, hoping to hold off the argument that was bound to follow until it could be more private.

"Indeed. No need to have a shocking revelation at every dinner. One begins to think you are trying to purposely stop my old heart." Their grandmother quipped, relieved.

"But times are changing. Women work." Sybil lectured. "And the upper classes will have to work as well. Matthew does already. If I do not have a proper education, it will only limit the type of work I do or decide whom I must marry!"

"And what is so bad about marriage?" Asked Edith.

"Well, it seems you'll have an empty house before long, Robert." Violet chortled.

"Oh?" Asked Mary, in her usual sharpness. "Am I leaving Downton?"

"Hmm? Oh, I just meant we'd all take a long stay in London perhaps." Violet feigned innocence. Matthew was eyeing her with curiosity, wondering if it were true Mary was being sent somewhere, but he was quickly distracted.

Thomas had entered and was whispering to Abigail. Matthew thought it strange. He put his spoon down as the footman pulled out her chair and led her by the hand. Before it could be commented upon, Mr. Carson explained, "It seems Mrs. Patmore has mistakenly included an ingredient which disagrees with her. My apologies, my lord."

"Are you alright, Abigail?" Lord Grantham, half stood, his voice kinder and softer. Matthew stood as well, his hand out feeling useless.

"She's be fine, my lord, just fine." Thomas answered for her. Thomas had never struck Downton's heir as being a particularly gentle man. In fact, the man made him a little distrustful, and Matthew had heard something of him causing trouble with the other servants, so his nature with Miss Abigail stood out as extremely odd and somewhat troubling to the young lawyer.

When she had passed from the room and the next course was served immediately, the table was a great deal quieter.

"Well," His mother laughed lightly, breaking the silence. "If one did not know better, one might think you were trying to kill her off."

"Never." Violet Crawley addressed the joking accusation. "If an earthquake and Africa cannot kill her, we would be fools to try."

Amusing though it should have been, it brought Matthew to wonder not for the first time how far his dear relatives would go to protect their home and legacy as they saw it. And the answer was clear to him: as far as they might dare. Showing any emerging feelings for Abigail might be viewed a threat, and a threat to Mary Crawley would be dealt with severely.

Mary Crawley was simply not going to give up so easily. She had seen Matthew inquire about how her sister and cousin had recovered over dinner, though he had to all but shout to Abigail from where he had been strategically placed at the table. He had more than made up for the lack of contact afterwards, by matching her own father's concern for her health. Later that week, he had escorted her back to Downtown from the hospital after her volunteer shift with his mother. The family did their best to keep the two distracted until they were soon off to London.

Once in town, polite letters were exchanged between Matthew and it seemed every member of their household. Distractions abounded. Papa hoped the city would impress Sybil enough to quell her desire to see New York. There were balls to attend, and Abigail liked to make strange visits to places such as the Exchange. Even Edith tired of going to the same museums. They had company often, not least among which was Evelyn Napier who returned again and again to lavish his attention on Cousin Abigail.

Mary, of course, took it upon herself to speak highly of the man to her cousin. If he had mentioned Mary's indiscretion or if she had heard of it at any of the social occasions where gossip abounded as plentiful as fresh drops of dew in early morning, she gave no indication of it whatsoever. Abigail did not seem to have anything more than a polite interest in Napier, and admitted to Mary that Matthew had been good enough to try to dissuade Napier's interest by inventing his own, but Napier had seen it as a challenge. Matthew, she explained, was good enough to try to help again by sending a gift of a violin, which she persisted in playing daily, oblivious to how it grated Mary's nerves painfully. It sent her from the house to take numerous walks, ringing in her hands a plain, white handkerchief she was always surprised to find in herself holding, having no memory of packing it.

She well knew writing to Matthew about the frequency of Napier's visits would only encourage him to make his feelings bolder. She needed to alter the circumstances.

One evening, she spotted an opportunity. Mary Crawley had attempted to make conversation with Napier in the hall, but he had snubbed her. She quickly salvaged the situation by informing Evelyn that Miss Abigail had a private concern she very much wished to speak with him about, but was too embarrassed to ask. He was all too happy to offer his ear and any assistance he might give.

She then made her way quickly to Abigail's room, but ran across her lady's maid, Gwen, who gave Abigail the message that it was Matthew who needed to speak to her urgently downstairs. As she hoped, Abigail left the room hurriedly not properly dressed. Mary smirked, but she did not enjoy it as she thought she might.

She then told Aunt Rosamund to please check on Cousin Abigail, who did not look well, ensuring that Abigail greeted Evelyn as Matthew and was promptly discovered in private, after dark, unannounced, and improperly clad by none other than the largest gossip in London. The situation was compromising to say the least and while Evelyn suspected the cause and Abigail didn't blink at rumors of scandal nor give two figs about her reputation, word did reach back to Matthew and even her innocent sisters were forced to recant what they had witnessed with their own eyes.

Apart from Matthew, interest in Abigail did not wane much—money it seemed did wonders—and her younger sister was also quite popular. Mary's own circumstances looked bleak when it became apparent that many friends in London had heard the rumors of her scandalous ruin. Granny was actually talking of marrying Mary off to 'an Italian that isn't too picky'. She simply was not having it. Even Edith's prospects looked better than hers, and she struggled not to dislike her sister.

Mary stayed in London after the others left, with Aunt Rosamund, though Granny was insistent that she return before Abigail and Matthew could grow any closer. Matthew was not visiting Downton as much it seemed and Mary was reviving their friendship through their written correspondence. Absence might make the heart grow fonder after all.

She did not expect to be called up by Evelyn Napier or to find that Edith was the one who betrayed her. Revenge upon Edith would be easy but not satisfying, and it would do nothing for Mary's prospects. She thought of even going to her cousin for help, but could not bear it. Perhaps, Italy would be sunny and not so awful.

But then, she ran across a new acquaintance whom Mary was keen to invite to stay at Downton, as he knew Abigail Vandavere but did not seem to think she would enjoy his presence. Mary assured him this was nonsense and flirted mercilessly, encouraging any conversation about the American she could elicit. And the conversation followed was most interesting...even more fascinating, perhaps, than her own secret.

Soon after, she returned to Downton with such haste that no one met her at the station. Walking up to the house from the car, she crossed paths with John in the front lawn. She stopped, pulling her traveling gloves off at the finger tips and giving him wry smile as he approached.

She did not expect to be so pleased to see him. It unnerved her. why should his presence matter to her at all? It was surely not to be a permanent one in her home. They did not know each other particularly well—or perhaps they did, just had not known each other for very long. The two appeared to not be mutually exclusive.

"Happy to be home?" He asked unabashedly. No one being around, she did not bother to hide her joy and stop to converse with the servant.

"I am. How are you?"

"Glad to see you around here again. Too many soft petals around here." He shook his head slowly.

"Oh? And what am I then? Not a petal?"

"A cactus." He jibbed.

"Prickly? Watch yourself there, John." She warned, heading up the steps. She was fiercely disappointed for a reason she could not explain, but his hand stopped her.

"Yes prickly, to defend itself. But you are a survivor in harsh conditions, you bloom, and you have something important inside you."

"What's that?"

"Water." He brushed her tear aside, his hand softer than she anticipated, and so large it could have held her face.

"I would offer to take you away from all this, but you'd never leave Downton." He laughed. She laughed too, though a little cruelly at the idea he could afford to rescue her and take her anywhere. "You will haunt this place one day."

"I hope so," Mary admitted and was not afraid it sounded strange.

"It's a shame. I'd like to show you a real cactus flower."

"What, like in the dessert?"

"Yes and on the plains. There is something there that as much as it frightens you would suit you as well as that dress." He told her, hands on her arms.

She allowed the unfamiliar feeling of a faint blush, harmless. But she removed herself not unkindly from his grip.

"Freedom. Open as far as you can see."

"I'm not as brave as you imagine me." At this, Mary had to dismiss herself.

How bleak things must be looking if she was actually thinking of the Wild West. Her last hopes might lie with Mr. Fender, who had promised to join them for dinner the following week, Mary happily announced to her family that evening.

Lady Mary tried not to squirm with glee at the appearance of the man whose visit she anticipated. Very well dressed, he had solid, broad facial features and was exceptionally tall, with short blonde hair. His eyes, however, were small, shrewd, and somewhat close together. They were dangerous.

"Good evening, Mr. Fender." Matthew greeted the man as he too arrived at Downton, just as planned.

"Good evening."

"And what is exactly is it you do, Mr. Fender?"

"Granny, certainly it can wait until dinner. We are about to go through." Mary laughed standing next to her guest.

Matthew raised his eyebrows, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but Downton until Abigail came down. His mouth actually opened a bit. Quite unseemly, Mary thought. But she had to admit some jealousy, if only to herself.

Abigail was wearing plum and the color looked marvelous on her, tight at the top like a corset crossed with lace, wider and more layered at the bottom, fabric shinning. Her effect on Matthew might have been less than ideal as her hair caught in the low evening light, but Vandavere's own reaction to Fender did not disappoint.

He acted the utmost gentleman, bowing even as he proclaimed it was nice to see her again. She pointedly refused to reply. Everyone took notice of the silence, and then Mama awkwardly led them to dinner. Mary seated herself triumphantly while Granny held back feigning concern. She took Abigail's arm.

"Are you alright, my dear? Forgive, but the signs are unmistakable."

"I'm sorry." Cousin Abigail shook her head a little, confused, but not objecting to the unusually affectionate contact of the girl's grandmother.

"You act as though he's broken your heart."

"Well, he did break two of my ribs, so I guess you could say he came close." Her reply took the two people around aback.

"What?" Matthew demanded angrily, stopping in his tracks. His face horrorstruck, waiting in vain for a poor joke to follow. None came. He burned with outrage. How Mary could openly bring someone in to harm her was beyond him, and he felt certain the fiasco with Napier was somehow the eldest daughter's doing as well. Little did she know, it had resulted in Abigail having to rather pointedly tell him she was not interested in furthering a relationship with him at that time.

"It's alright. I can handle him." Abigail assured him much too calmly. He did not care.

"He's not eating here! How dare he put his hands on you?"

"Please, keep quiet." She stepped very close to him, still attached to the dowager countess. "Mary is using him for some purpose I have not yet devised. I don't want to ruin her plans." She voiced this freely before Violet, who did not seem bothered; Mary too, after all, may also be unwittingly in danger, her expression conveyed.

"You shall sit next to Cousin Abigail, Matthew." Violet insisted, her face furrowed with concern that Mary's plotting might blow up in her face yet again and, clearly, she had no ill wishes towards Abigail herself, only marking her an enemy inasmuch as she was a rival to her grand daughter. It was easily one of the strangest evenings of his life.

"Mary? You're assisting with her web-spinning now?" Matthew whispered when he at last had the chance during dinner.

"Mary is in a difficult position." Abigail murmured back, her expression unreadable.

"Yes, of course, I appreciate that more than anyone, but her manner…" He began.

"Men are dangerous. You need not pity him, I assure you." She informed him.

"Of course I don't pity him. I'd like to hit him. But the way she… not all men seem dangerous to you, surely? I would never harm you." He struggled to maintain eye contact through his intimate admittance so that she might know he was sincere. She responded with a smile he thought was sad. At this, Matthew Crawley found himself overwhelmed by the sudden urge to pick her up and carry her forcibly from the room and dreadful stranger, clutching her close. Her words interrupted his inner turmoil. "Don't judge Mary so harshly. She's been betrayed by someone close to her."

"I wouldn't call the entail a betrayal—"

"Nor would I."

"Oh. Has she?" This new revelation gave him pause.

"Yes. I found out in London."

The stranger's deep voice and odd accent rolled across the table like waves, interrupting their quiet conversation.

"Do be careful, Mr. Crawley."

"How's that, sir?" He replied stiffly.

"Beware the curse." He winked at Abigail, making Matthew's stomach turn.

Mary's hollow laughed danced out beside him. "Oh no, not that nonsense again."

"What curse?"

"Men who fall in love with Miss Vandavere tend to end up dead."

"Abigail has seen much loss as of late we know." Matthew smiled at his mother this time for her jumping in, "And it has made her quite sensitive to the pains of others. For instance,"

"Oh yes, quite a lot of loss. Her siblings, the man her family intended for her, her uncle, and her parents. Oh and then there was that man who was courting you who was mugged, and that advisor of you father's drowned, did he not?"

"What exactly are you insinuating, sir?" Matthew snapped. "That any of these events were somehow her fault?"

"No, of course not. I thought you knew; I only meant to jest with an old friend about an old joke."

"Absurd." Lord Grantham scoffed.

"And you thought such a joke would be tasteful to someone in mourning?" Matthew demanded.

"It's alright, Mr. Crawley, just silly superstition. Abby and I go way back." He winked. Conversation was thankfully changed, but went quickly, everyone ready to move into the drawing room.

There, Matthew sat beside 'Abby' without asking, as if guarding her. Meanwhile, Mary and the man were deep in conversation, her expression steadily growing darker than it had been. It was subtle, but Matthew was certain they were disagreeing. Fender smiled as if flirting as he grabbed Mary's elbow too tightly. At this, Matthew felt another wave of anger. He thought all concern for Mary had vanished and was thus confused; perhaps, it was his anger at this man's gall rather than protectiveness that surged within him. Perhaps he pitied her. Could this be Lady Mary's betrayer?

Abigail must have seen the exchange as well, for she excused herself into the hall. Mary claimed to be heading to bed alongside her cousin. The guest excused himself shortly afterwards for the loo presumably. Matthew tried to wait to excuse himself for the evening, but made it his exit swift as possible.

A he stepped into the hall, he heard Abigail's voice from the library, business-like and low.

"What do you want Gordon Fender? I know it must be something."

"Well there are certain things that your family wouldn't want revealed…" The rest was difficult to discern.

Matthew had just reached the door and pushed it open a bit in time to watch Abigail say from by the fire, "If you even dream I'm half as dangerous as you accuse me of being, you couldn't imagine I'd be blackmailed. You will not threaten Mary. You will leave now. And if I even suspect you are going to papers with your ridiculous rumors just to make a dime, you won't make it your train." He threat was level. She paused a moment for it to set in as Matthew felt his eyebrows raise in surprise at this side of Miss Vandavere.

"You aren't going to make a penny off me or Mary, but I am going to help you. There's a gambling man looking to collect from a Mrs. Bates in London. Mention her address in the right company and you might weasel your way out of the grip of whatever low life you owe now. Get out. We'll make your excuses, or perhaps you'd like to stay behind and see another old friend of yours?" Her tone was suggestive.

"John's here?" The man all but sputtered. There was a moment of silence in which Matthew waited.

"You brought me here, you bitch!" The man growled.

Then came the unmistakable smack of flesh on flesh. A slap. Mary was flustered as Matthew burst into the hall, holding her face with one hand, her eyes fierce but tearing.

"Are you alright?" He felt pained at the eldest Crawley daughter's uncharacteristically disheveled look as he held her gently by the arms.

The dinner guest, putting on his hat, made to leave at once, but Matthew grabbed his coat collar, drew back his own arm, and punched him hard across the mouth. The pain in his knuckles was as satisfying as the cracking sound it made against the stranger's teeth. Although spun off balance, the man did not pause, openly fleeing through the hall.

It was Mr. Carson who entered fast on Matthew's heels looking as if his face might explode and seeming to know at once what had happened. Mary averted her gaze, embarrassed and Matthew looked to Abigail. He wanted to comfort her, but she appeared so calm. He stood a few feet from her, useless once more.

"Where is Mr. Fender?" Mr. Carson asked stepping into the hall to look for his retreating coat tails.

"He's gone." Mary managed. "Excuse me." She rushed by him, leaving Abigail and Matthew alone.

A/N: Again, sorry for the wait and any mistakes. Reviews are greatly appreciated! I'd love to know your likes, dislikes, and what you want/expect to happen next. Thanks for reading. Someone said they were confused, so I hurriedly tried to clear some things up with changes before more of you read it and felt that way!


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